


Stepping Off the Razor’s Edge

by MissAnnThropic



Series: Occam's Razor [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAnnThropic/pseuds/MissAnnThropic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of season 3b, the group in Beacon Hills graduate high school and move on with their lives… everyone except Stiles and Derek.  Beset by their demons, they decide they need to get away for a while to clear their heads.  Cue the road trip. (companion piece to “Occam’s Razor” but can be read alone)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping Off the Razor’s Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Season 3B
> 
> Author’s Note: I didn’t plan to write the road trip that appears in my previous fic “Occam’s Razor”, but then the Muse said ‘hey, remember how much fun it was to use ShineGold as the element that tied the fic together? Well, why don’t you use ShineGold to tie this piece to the fic, too?’ So that’s what I did. The novel ShineGold reappears here. In fact, it decided how long this fic was. A chapter of Off the Edge for every chapter of ShineGold.
> 
> Cross-posting: I do not consent to have my fics posted to other websites (such a Goodreads).

Prologue

It was early. Even earlier than Stiles would normally wake up for classes. When he had classes.

His decision to drop out of the local community college in his first semester had made things tense in the Stilinski house. John had not outright _said_ that he was disappointed, but Stiles could read it in the set of his dad’s mouth, the furrow in his father’s brow, in the way the sheriff so many times would start to say something, stop, then sigh like there was just no point. Stiles was already lost.

Stiles knew he was probably being unfair to his dad. A lot of the disappointment he believed his father felt was, in all likelihood, the disappointment Stiles felt in himself.

Still…

Stiles stood on the porch, picking at the peeling paint of the wood banister with his thumbnail, and watched the road for a black car. The birds who loved the dawn were rejoicing, but quietly, as if even they recognized the ungodly hour. The street lamps were still on. The world slept, and Stiles felt like a walker of another realm who’d slipped inside this one.

A single carryon-size suitcase and his backpack were on the floor beside him. He didn’t want to wait inside. He relished knowing he had already taken the first step toward this new adventure. It was both scary and exhilarating. It was also the first good thing he’d felt in a long time.

The front door behind him opened and he turned to watch his father step out in a t-shirt, pajama pants, and house shoes. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, and Stiles focused on the curl of steam from the mug rather than see the unhappy look on his father’s face.

“You sure you have everything?” John asked.

Stiles looked down at his two puny bags. It didn’t seem like enough, not for a trip with no defined end. But when Stiles set himself to packing last night, he didn’t want any of his stuff. He wanted to leave it all behind. That was the point.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s plenty.”

“Doesn’t look like it. You’re going to be out of clothes in a week.”

Stiles shrugged. “So we’ll find a laundromat. No big.” Stiles searched the end of the street for the Camaro.

“Stiles…” John began, and Stiles tensed, knowing what was coming. “Are you sure about this? You haven’t exactly been in the best place, you know?”

He did. He hadn’t been in a good place since the nogitsune. It left him broken, and while Stiles kept waiting for the healing to kick in, he was starting to think maybe it never would and he was damaged beyond repair.

“I just don’t know if leaving everything that’s familiar to you is the best thing for you right now.”

“I think that’s why I need to do this,” Stiles argued gently. He tried to be kind, because he understood why this was hard for John to accept. If their positions were reversed, and it was John wanting to run away (because that’s what it was), he would be upset, too.

But Kira and Scott had moved to San Francisco after graduating high school, Lydia was across the country at some Ivy League university in New York, Isaac had disappeared to parts unknown after months of excising himself from the group, Peter kidnapped Malia and the two vanished without a trace, and all Stiles seemed to see at every turn in Beacon Hills was the ghost of Allison.

He secretly wondered if the others had, too. Maybe that was part of the reason they’d all left.

John scowled and stared into his coffee. “And what about Derek?”

Stiles’ lips twitched in a smile, but it was a humorless one. “I think he needs this just as much as I do.” Derek had always been a sourpuss, but since he lost the pack, it was even worse. He was a knot of anger, loneliness, and regret on a good day. And neither he nor Stiles had many good days lately.

Stiles and Derek had spent a lot of time together since the end of Stiles’ senior year five months ago, and they were not merry times. It was sharing misery. They were both liked wounded animals. Something had to give. The final straw came when Stiles found out he was failing his statistics course. That was the moment he turned to Derek and asked if they could leave town.

It was still shocking to Stiles that Derek had so readily agreed. A part of Stiles expected the Camaro to never turn down his street.

He waited anxiously, praying it did.

A heavy silence settled between father and son.

“Look, Stiles…” John rested a hand on his son’s shoulder, “I know things have been rough for you.”

Stiles snorted.

“And whatever you think you need to get better, I support that. I’m just not sure that this is it.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure either.” Stiles searched his father’s eyes. “But I have to try, Dad. I have to try _something_. I can’t keep doing this.”

And it was a testament to how hard the last year and a half had been that John did not argue that point. If Stiles didn’t try something to get better, he would come apart at the seams.

It was why John had not fought Stiles on this road trip idea, even when his parental instincts railed at the idea of seeing Stiles leave. He was willing to let Stiles go on the mere chance he might come back the son he once knew.

Movement at the end of the block made both Stilinskis look up. Stiles felt a fleeting lightness in his chest when he saw the Camaro heading toward his house.

It was happening. He was getting out.

“Call me,” John ordered. The grip he had on Stiles’ shoulder became almost painful.

“I will, Dad.”

“I mean it. You tell Derek if I don’t get an update from you every single day, I will put out a warrant on him.”

Stiles almost smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That surprisingly does not make me feel any better about this,” John muttered.

Stiles stepped in and hugged his dad. John returned it with one arm, the other holding the coffee away from the crush of bodies, then he patted Stiles on the back and said hoarsely, “Just beat this, okay?”

By ‘this’ he meant the darkness that had taken up residence in his soul because of that demon fox.

Stiles wasn’t sure if it was possible, but he was damn well going to _try_.

When the Camaro stopped beside the curb in front of the Stilinski residence, Stiles gathered up his two bags and hurried toward the car. Derek popped the trunk in a wordless, breathlessly freeing ‘get in’.

Chapter 1

They did a lot of rushing to nowhere the first few days, the highway an endless ribbon of asphalt before them. It didn’t matter where they went. It was just important to be _elsewhere_.

The windows were rolled down, making conversation not worth the effort to raise their voices, and music was lost in the whoosh of fresh air. Stiles had his elbow propped against the passenger-side door as he stared out at the California scenery whipping by. He imagined all the lives they were speeding past. Men and women with families and jobs and routines and problems that Derek and Stiles just left in their dust.

He stole a glance over at Derek behind the wheel now and then, but the werewolf looked disinclined toward conversation, and that was fine with Stiles. Derek silently glared at the world while Stiles counted his fingers.

ShineGold was wedged on the dashboard, the paperback cover flapping in the wind. Derek read it every night they stopped. Sometimes aloud. It teased of escape, the kind their bodies could not manage no matter how hard they tried. It was freedom for the mind. There were worlds beyond earth between the covers, a universe that knew of Rowmee and Sess’tk and Eelciyd, but nothing of nogitsunes.

Chapter 2

“ _Ugh_ ,” Stiles slapped a hand over his mouth and nose when they staggered into the last available motel room at close to midnight. “This place _reeks_.”

“You think it smells bad to _you_ ,” Derek complained as he tossed an old duffel bag on the rickety table next to the door. “Be glad you don’t have my nose.”

Stiles eyed the two small beds dubiously. He went to sit on the bed nearest the door only to be grabbed by the arm and steered to the bed farthest from. Stiles didn’t argue. Appreciated having the werewolf between him and the door, truth be told.

“Do you think someone died here?” he asked as he fished his phone from his pocket. “I’ll bet someone died in here.”

Derek sniffed and grimaced. “I wouldn’t rule it out.” He shot a look at Stiles as he began to type out a text message. “Do _not_ tell your father that.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not an idiot.” Not that death here would really bother Stiles. There was death in the place he’d left. At least here it was an unknown death. Not someone who had been a friend… brave, loyal, and loving, for all the good that it did her in the end.

_Stiles: stopped for night. safe. love you._

He put his phone on the nightstand and bounced on the mattress. It squeaked like a metal door in a horror film. “This is definitely the crappiest one so far.”

Derek toed off his shoes and lifted his eyebrows. “Bad enough to sleep in the car?”

Stiles winced. “Not even. That car is not built for sleeping in. I’d come out of a night spent in that car a permanent pretzel, and so would you if it weren’t for your damned werewolf healing.”

Derek crawled onto the second bed. “If this room doesn’t make you want to sleep in the Camaro, I don’t think any room will.”

“That sounds like tempting fate to prove you wrong. Don’t.” His words started out playful, but by the end they had a bite. Mock anger was traded for real anger. Derek cast him a look, but Stiles didn’t apologize.

Derek didn’t expect him to.

Stiles scowled and bounced on the mattress again just to fill the silence.

“Knock it off,” Derek growled. “That sound’s annoying.”

“Yeah, it is,” Stiles agreed. “We won’t be able to move around in our sleep at all without waking each other up.”

“Remember that when you feel like jerking off and _don’t_.”

“You’re no fun,” Stiles quipped dryly, but his heart felt cold and hard in his chest at the joke. Because that was something he rarely did anymore. He usually couldn’t shake the black hole inside him enough to feel. At least not anything close to warmth and arousal. He felt like Eichen House – hollow and sad and full of demons or ghosts. Sometimes both. Half the time when he tried, he felt like his body wasn’t his when he touched it. Or that his hand was a killer’s. The nogitsune had worn his face, his skin, his hands. It took so little to twist Stiles’ perspective, to see everything him as everything _nogitsune_.

The worst part was that he knew he should miss masturbating, but he just felt so _rotten_ inside that he didn’t. Couldn’t.

Of course, Derek had no clue that Stiles couldn’t stand to touch himself anymore.

Stiles stilled and looked around the room. “Where the hell are we?”

“You mean what town? No idea.”

“You didn’t see any signs on the way in?”

“Wasn’t paying attention. Does it matter? We’ll be gone at first light.”

They would. And everything awful about this room – the smell, the squeaky beds, the mystery stains on the carpet, the peeling wallpaper, the echo of the person who may have died in it – it would all be left behind. Shed. Like a layer of the life Stiles was trying to slough off and escape.

Chapter 3 

Stiles took pictures of sunrises and sunsets because they looked happy. He tried to send his father pictures that seemed bright and optimistic, because god knows his father had weathered enough darkness because of Stiles. It was kind of a lie, though. The vibrant skies weren’t an accurate representation of what he felt inside.

Not the colors, at least. Sometimes, he felt like the wide open sky was close. Days on the road had opened up a tightly-clenched fist inside him, and when it uncurled and let him _breathe_ , he gulped in the freedom of the road and the endless sky like he hadn’t breathed in years.

He hadn’t even realized his breathing had been constrained, like a man caught in a too-tight coat, until that tension was suddenly gone and he went ‘oh, _this_ is what breathing feels like’. The first time it hit Stiles, the first time the vise around his ribs let up, he inhaled deep and sharp and Derek looked over at him.

He’d probably been used to Stiles breathing tight as though in pain for almost two years.

That air-stealing constriction came back sometimes, but when they stopped and Stiles got out and stared up at the boundless sky, he could feel it losing its hold. He still appreciated unlabored breathing. There would probably come a time – he hoped he got there – when he took for granted effortless breath. But today was not that day.

They were miles from nowhere, and Stiles felt like not even a supernatural, all-powerful nogitsune would be able to find him out here.

He looked over at Derek, stretching and cracking his joints after a long day on the road, and he wondered what their journey so far felt like for him. Was it anything like freedom, or just another version of the same burdens? Was Stiles a weight dragging him under? Did he wish he’d left Stiles back in Beacon Hills?

He didn’t ask, because Stiles couldn’t handle the answer.

Chapter 4

They found a diner that looked like a crime scene from the road, but inside served the best curly fries Stiles had ever tasted in his life.

“Oh my _god_ , these are _sinful_ ,” he moaned as he shoved three into his mouth at once.

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Derek groused. “The family sitting at the back of the room heard you. People in passing cars probably heard you.”

“Well, excuse me for living.”

They both froze, because it was a phrase, yes. It wasn’t meant to be taken literally. But too often Stiles had begged forgiveness for that very crime, for what his life had wrought, that it drew them both up short.

“Eat your damn fries,” Derek mumbled.

At any other time, the shock of being reminded would have killed his appetite, but the curly fries were just too good. He crammed more into his mouth.

Derek ate a few bites of his hamburger (bloody as hell, so red that Stiles had to look away when he saw it seeping from the patty), consulting a map on his phone laid out on the table next to his plate.

“We’re more or less headed toward LA,” Derek noted after a minute. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Want to check it out?”

“Sure. Never been to the city of angels. Could be fun.” Maybe a city of angels could rid him of his demons.

When the waitress came by to refill their drinks, Derek ordered another side of curly fries. At Stiles’ curious look, Derek said, “You’re almost done with yours.”

Stiles looked down at his plate, almost bare of the glorious potato curls.

“Okaaay.”

Derek shifted awkwardly. “It’s good to see you with an appetite. You’re way too thin.”

Stiles automatically pulled the sleeves of his jacket down over his bony wrists. He’d always been lean, but _after_ … he’d lost pounds he didn’t have to lose.

Derek didn’t press the issue. He just pushed the plate of curly fries toward Stiles when the waitress brought them over.

Surprising himself, Stiles finished them all.

Chapter 5

“I question the legitimacy of this title.”

“Stiles.”

“Because _yeah_ , it _says_ it’s the country’s largest ball of twine, but I’d be willing to bet _every_ state has the country’s largest ball of twine. Because who’s going to fact-check that? What dumbass is going to go visit every ball of twine and measure it? Anyone who has a big-ass ball of twine can say ‘hey, largest in the country!’, because no one is going to call someone on that. They’re just going to say ‘uh huh, sure, your twine-ball is the biggest, good for you’ and get on with their lives. And probably avoid the guy boasting about his twiny ball.”

“If all you were going to do is bitch about it, why did you want to stop?”

Stiles looked over at Derek, who seemed to regard the big ball of twine as some kind of eyesore. Which it was, totally, but there was cheesy Americana to consider.

“It’s just the strangest bragging right. You tell me, Derek, does this impress you?”

Derek gave Stiles a deadpan look. “Not particularly. I’m not usually impressed by balls.”

Stiles stared speechlessly a moment, then he laughed. A short, rough, disused laugh that took them both by surprise. Derek stared at him a second, as though he’d spoken in tongue rather than laughed, then he honest-to-god _smirked_. It was mostly terse and annoyed, but there was a hint of amusement underneath that made Stiles’ heart fumble over the next beat.

Stiles looked back at the ball of twine, a trashy glob of string roped off like it was actually a prize, and declared, “This is not nearly as cool as the dinosaur.”

“That dinosaur was plaster and _pink_.”

“You saying this is better?”

“Well, _no_. Obviously the pink dinosaur wins. _Geez_.” Like it was inflicting real life-pain on Derek that Stiles was even forcing him to have the conversation.

Chapter 6

They got sick of fast food pretty quickly. It wasn’t long before a variety of food items found their way into the backseat. Crackers, peanut butter, apples, bananas. Derek griped every time Stiles reached back to get something to eat, but he didn’t complain much, loudly, or long. He seemed to have taken the stance that anytime Stiles was eating it was a good thing.

Derek developed an addiction to sunflower seeds that was completely impractical on a road trip and filled the Camaro with halves of shells. Every time they stopped, they both spent ten minutes flicking shells out of the creases of seats and off the floorboards.

Derek didn’t seem to mind nearly as much as he pretended to, and Stiles spent far too much of his time watching Derek pry apart the shells with his teeth.

Chapter 7

Stiles woke up screaming in the dead of night.

Derek was across the distance between their beds in an instant, reaching out to grab him by the shoulders. “Stiles!”

Visions of nightmares danced in the corners of his eyes. He saw Derek in front of him, but in the edges of the room he saw swords, metal teeth, dirty gauze, and blood. He heaved for breath and swatted at Derek’s hands to make him let go. 

“Fine… fine…” Stiles forced out with ragged breaths. He was familiar with this by now. He could profess himself all right when he was still anything but. It was an acquired skill he’d all but mastered. He did it for his dad. Stiles hated tearing his father awake with screams, so he got good at reassuring someone else while his heart was pounding against his ribs and he blinked sweat from his eyes.

“You are _not_ fine,” Derek snarled and leaned over and turned on the light on the nightstand. Stiles squirmed to turn away from it. To not be seen like this.

“Derek, don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

Stiles turned on his side, facing away from Derek, and curled in on himself. He pressed his limbs close and clutched his arms to hold himself in, to keep himself from cracking wide open and flying apart like so much dust. Like the nogitsune had fallen apart. He knew what he would look like if he fell to pieces and blew away. At times, he thought he would.

“Stiles…” Derek shifted closer. Hovered. He was worried. Frightened. He’d never seen one of Stiles’ nightmares.

“I’m fine… just a nightmare.”

Derek froze. Stiles had told him before ‘I have nightmares’ like it was something trifling. Something hardly noteworthy, just another in a long list of reasons why Stiles’ life sucked. The way he’d treated it in those conversations greatly underplayed the severity of the nightmares, as Stiles had intended.

There was a long moment of silence while Derek processed what Stiles had failed to really say for months. He knew Derek was reassessing every moment they’d been together since the demon fox ordeal, rearranging that Stiles to take into account that _this_ had been underneath all that time.

“Are they always this bad?”

Stiles nodded stiltedly. “Pretty much. Sorry I woke you.”

“You think I care that you woke me up?”

Stiles shrugged one shoulder and sniffled. God, he’d been crying in his sleep. “You say you don’t care now, but a dozen more sleepless nights, and you’ll be sick of it.” His dad never said he was, but the weariness in his face the next morning, the tightness in his jaw when he came into Stiles’ room to hold him through the night terrors, told Stiles that even the most patient soul had limits.

And Derek was not the most patient person to begin with.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder at Derek, confused. “What are _you_ sorry for?”

Derek glowered at the wall. “I had no idea.”

No idea how bad the nightmares were. How much Stiles suffered still.

“You wouldn’t. I didn’t tell you.” He didn’t tell anyone. Not even Scott. Everyone got the whitewashed version, the sugar-coated version. Everyone but John, who had to live Stiles’ waking nightmare with him. At least they weren’t as frequent as they used to be, but that was small comfort on the nights when he woke up with screams tearing from his throat.

“It’s okay, Derek,” Stiles said in an exhausted voice.

Derek gave him a stern look.

“All right, it’s not okay. But it is what it is. I can’t help it. I can’t stop it.”

Derek sat on the edge of his bed in silence for several minutes. Stiles let him, because although he felt bad for waking Derek up, ashamed that he had to see Stiles like this, he felt better with Derek there. There was a patch of heat at his back where Derek’s hip pressed against him through the covers, and it was the only spot of warmth he felt when everything else in him felt clammy and cold. Like a lifeless corpse.

“Will you be able to go back to sleep?” Derek finally asked.

“Not usually, no.” Stiles had learned to live on a frighteningly small amount of sleep, because that was always preferable to sinking back into the maw of his subconscious. There be monsters.

Derek got up, walked to his bag on the dresser, and pulled out a pair of jeans.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

“If you’re up, we might as well head out.”

“Dude, no… it’s…” he started to say ‘fine’, but Derek gave him a dangerous look. It made Stiles decide from that moment on that he would never use the word ‘fine’ when he didn’t sincerely mean it. “You can still get a few more hours. I’ll just read or something.” ShineGold was on Derek’s side of the nightstand, worse for wear after coming this far with them from Beacon Hills.

“Get up and get dressed.”

Stiles sat up even as he protested, “This is stupid. You’re going to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Fine. Then you drive.”

Stiles blinked. “Drive the Camaro? Really?”

“Yes. But only if you’re ready to leave in the next five minutes.”

Stiles practically flew out of bed to get ready.

Chapter 8

“I don’t want to sound unfaithful to my trusty Jeep here, but dude, I _love_ your car.” It was everything his Jeep was not. The way it handled, tight and responsive like a panther under his control. The stick it had to the road was ridiculous, whereas the Jeep lumbered and tipped on sharp turns and made Stiles thank the car gods for the roll bar. When he pressed on the gas pedal, the Camaro lunged like a racehorse leaving the gate, where his beloved Jeep made a lot of engine noise and went marginally faster. Even the feel of the steering wheel was worlds different… the Camaro thick and ribbed for fingers and giving just enough under his hands, compared to the Jeep’s hard, smooth, thin ring.

If cars were women, the Jeep was the homely gal with good birthing hips that could help harvest crops and raise barns, while the Camaro was Megan Fox. It was _sexy_.

Like owner, like car… Derek definitely fit the bill, though Stiles would like to think he did _not_ having birthing hips.

Derek made a sound from the passenger seat. “Yeah, she’s a sweet ride.”

“She?” Stiles smirked. “You call her a she? Did you _name_ her?” Stiles meant it in jest, but the caught-out expression on Derek’s face made him pounce. “Oh my god, you _did_ name her! What is it? SexyBeast? Wolfmobile? Bae?”

“Betty,” Derek grumbled.

“Betty?”

“Yes, Betty. As in Black Betty.”

“Like the song?”

Derek nodded.

Stiles considered that a moment. “Huh… that’s not what I was expecting.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I didn’t name her that. Laura did.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Oh.”

Derek looked out the window.

“I like it.” Stiles nodded to himself in approval. “Fits.”

“Laura thought so.”

Stiles cut a look over at Derek, shoulders hunched up around his ears and spine a tense bow. “Sooo… does that make you the wild child?”

Derek snorted and shook his head. He didn’t really laugh, exactly, but the tautness in his frame melted away.

Stiles let the subject go, but began to tap out the beat to Black Betty on the steering wheel with one thumb.

Bam ba-lam.

Chapter 9

“You’re never driving Betty again.”

“Dude, come on! The flat isn’t my fault! It was a blowout! They just happen. It’s chaos theory.”

“Hand me the tire iron.”

“Come on, Derek… you were watching me the whole time. You know it wasn’t anything I did.”

“Stiles, you handle her like a Jeep.”

Stiles gasped. “And what exactly does _that_ mean?”

“I mean there’s no finesse. You’re too rough with her. You have to respect her if you want to get top performance out of her.”

“Are you telling me how to drive her or seduce her?” 

Derek stopped, dropped his chin toward his chest, and rested one hand on the street next to the jack. All Stiles saw was the curve of his back, broad shoulders, and the back of his head.

“Hey, you okay?”

Derek shook his head, his shoulders hitched and… was he _laughing_? “Never mind. Just… go away and let me finish this. And I better not ever see you doing anything untoward with her tailpipe, or I swear…”

Stiles barked a laugh and moved off a few paces to give Derek peace to finish changing the tire. He ended up pricking himself on a cactus thorn when his boredom and curiosity clashed. 

He fully expected his driving privileges to be revoked for the remainder of the trip, but as soon as Derek was done and called him back, he held out the keys to him. “Like a _lady_ ,” he instructed as he laid them in Stiles’ hand.

“Dude, I am going to respect the shit out of Betty. No joke, I will finesse her so hard you’re going to blush.”

“God, Stiles, do not make you and my car into a porno.”

“You’d watch it and you know it.”

Derek choked on air and shoved Stiles toward the driver’s seat. “Don’t make me rip your throat out.”

“With your teeth, yeah, yeah.”

Chapter 10

Neither one of them liked Los Angeles as much as they thought they would. Derek said it smelled of baked skin, hair product, and burnt biscuits. Stiles just didn’t like how many people there were. He hadn’t realized how relaxing he’d come to find just him and Derek alone for as far as the eye could see until humanity was crushed up on all sides of him. He kept finding himself having to hold back the urge to shove people to get some personal space.

But they’d driven all that way, so they did the touristy stuff. Stiles rubber-necked at least six times when he could have sworn he saw a celebrity. Derek told him he was an idiot. Stiles tried to get Derek to make a roaring face next to the Grauman lion and failed, settling for a picture of grumpy cat Hale and Chinese lion instead. They found a vantage point from which they could see the Hollywood sign faintly in the distance and called it good enough, because they couldn’t imagine how it would be any less a giant sign spelling out ‘HOLLYWOOD’ any closer. Stiles hopped out of the car while Derek was double-parked and the target of much honking so Stiles could say in all truth he’d been on Rodeo Drive (though he insisted on pronouncing it ‘rodeo’ like the place with bulls and broncos just to be a little shit). Stiles begged to go on a tour of the stars’ homes and Derek threatened to leave him on a corner with a sign that said ‘free to good home’.

“Hey, Derek!”

“What?”

“Let’s find Taylor Lautner’s house. I want to see you challenge him to an ab-off.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

“Nah… you’re right. You’re _actually_ a werewolf. Way to put the poor kid at a disadvantage. I’d hate to see Jacob cry.”

“You’re all heart,” Derek said drolly.

“You mock, but I’ll have you know I’m a very considerate person.”

“Then stop standing on Janis Joplin,” Derek countered and tugged on Stiles’ elbow to move him off the Walk of Fame star he was standing on.

Chapter 11

There were long stretches of road, and time, when Derek and Stiles didn’t speak a word to each other. There was nothing strained or awkward about those times. They had grown to feel at ease in each other’s negative space. They’d learned they could exist together, two black holes of dark thoughts, and not pull each other apart in the process.

Since the demon, Stiles was the only one who could be around Derek and not feel the destructive pull of his gravity on his bad days. Derek had the same resilience to Stiles’ dark times that no one else could really withstand. Even Scott, when he’d been around, shied from Stiles when he sank into a really bad funk. He didn’t mean to, but it was instinctive – the way all animals shrank from sickness and death. 

Derek was like Stiles in that respect, only with a different name to the pain in his core, and they balanced. Everyone else in their lives threatened to collapse into the blackness, trapped in the event horizon, but Stiles and Derek had suffered too much. They didn’t even blink when they caught a glimpse of the other’s darkness.

Once upon a time, Stiles could not have dreamed there would be a day when he would value someone’s company because they would let him be silent for hours without making him talk.

Finally, Stiles understood Derek’s darkness.

Chapter 12

_Scott: how’s the roadtrip?_

_Stiles: good. nice to get out of town and clear my head_

_Scott: do you feel better?_

_Stiles: sort of. good days/bad days_

_Scott: is derek playing nice?_

_Stiles: does derek ever?_

_Scott: haha… but serious_

_Stiles: he’s cool. he let me drive the camaro_

_Scott: no way!_

_Stiles: he totally did. does. we take turns driving_

_Scott: that is hard to imagine_

_Stiles: ikr. derek loves that car. did you know it has a name?_

_Scott: now you’re just messing with me_

_Stiles: nope. he totally named it_

_Scott: what is it?_

Stiles put the phone down without telling Scott Betty’s name. Somehow, it felt more special when Stiles was the only other soul who knew it.

Chapter 13

“Do you ever get homesick?” Stiles asked out of the blue one day.

Derek paused and looked over at Stiles. They were back to crossing the desert. At times, it felt like they were driving toward the end of the earth. “Why, are you?”

Stiles frowned. “Not really. I probably should be, right? But I’m not. That probably makes me a horrible son.”

“You don’t miss your father?”

Stiles mulled that over a minute. “Yeah, I do… but I text or talk to him every night, so it’s not so bad. But I don’t miss _Beacon Hills_ , and I’ve lived there my whole life.”

Derek just shrugged. “Something awful happened to you there.”

“I know. But I honestly don’t expect it to be that rational, you know? It totally makes sense that I’d be glad to be away from there, but I really figured some fucked up psychological bullshit would kick in, like horses running back into a burning barn or something. I think I should miss Beacon Hills, but I don’t.”

“It’s just a place. There are lots of them.”

Stiles hummed agreement. “So… do you ever get homesick?”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “I… I get peoplesick.”

Like Stiles longed for his mother. For Allison.

Chapter 14

When Derek came out of the bathroom after a shower, a towel around his waist and scrubbing a hand through his wet hair, Stiles was lying on his bed on his stomach flipping through ShineGold.

Stiles looked at him. “This really throws my entire mental framework of you into chaos, you know.”

“How’s that?” Derek moved toward his bag to dig out some sleep clothes.

“I don’t know… I guess you just don’t strike me as a scifi fan.”

“Maybe you don’t understand people as well as you think you do.”

“That’s probably true.” Stiles laid the book down and let it flop closed. A serious expression settled over his face. “Before… I think I used to be pretty good at judging people. I mean, I admit I was really off the mark with _you_ – ”

Derek huffed and pulled on a shirt.

“But in my defense, you have this serial killer look that threw me off. I blame it on you being a werewolf, like how was I supposed to know how to read that? Completely threw off my radar. But besides _that_ , I used to have a pretty good intuition about people.”

Stiles politely looked away as Derek dropped the towel and stepped into a loose pair of sweatpants. “And now you don’t?”

Stiles sighed. “Now… I think the worst of people. I look at them and wonder how far they’d have to be pushed before they’d hurt someone. Before they’d kill somebody. And sometimes… sometimes I wonder _what_ it would take to push them over the edge.” Stiles pushed away to sit back against the headboard. “I think about some pretty sick shit sometimes.” He dropped his eyes to his hands, fingers clasped together to hold them still and count to ten.

Derek moved closer to the bed, reached over, and picked up ShineGold. After a beat, he sat down on the edge of Stiles’ bed. “I get it.”

“I’m serious, Derek. I’m _broken_.”

“So am I.”

Stiles sighed in frustration.

“I’ve been broken a lot longer than you.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“No… but it does mean I might know what the fuck I’m talking about on the subject.”

That had merit. “Do we ever get _unbroken_?”

“I don’t think so. I wasn’t always…” Derek thumbed absently at the corner of the book’s spine. “You wouldn’t recognize me if you saw me when I was a kid.”

“So that’s it? No hope?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m better than I used to be. Not as good as I was before the fire, but…” Derek shrugged and stared down at the book. “It was Laura.”

“What?” Stiles asked, confused by the jump.

“Laura loved science fiction. I used to give her shit about it, because weren’t our lives enough of a bad scifi show without adding more? She just rolled her eyes and liked it anyway.” Derek almost smiled. “Sometimes I think she liked it just to spite me. After she died… whenever I read a scifi book, I think about her. About what she would have liked, what she would have hated, which characters would be her favorites. It keeps her alive, because it’s not just memories.” Derek shook his head. “That probably sounds stupid.”

“No, I get it. Like… if you think about how she’d react to _new_ things, it’s like she’s not just trapped in the past where you can’t get to her.” When Derek looked up at him, startled, Stiles shrugged. “I do that with my mom. I wonder what she’d think of me.” Stiles crossed his arms. “Well, not so much since… not even a mother could love what I did.”

“Stiles…”

“Don’t. If you’re going to lecture me about how it wasn’t me, just don’t. I’ve heard it a hundred times. And _yes_ , I _know_. But that doesn’t matter when I _remember_ it, even though it was the nogitsune doing all that crap. When I dream, I can’t tell the difference.”

Derek stood and went to his own bed. He put the book down on the nightstand and pulled back the sheets to climb in. He looked resigned, like he wouldn’t fight too hard to convince Stiles he wasn’t a monster. Probably because a part of Derek would always think that about himself.

“So would Laura have liked this book?” Stiles asked.

Derek smiled sadly. “I think so… mostly, I like it. One of the main characters has a sister, and the two of them are really close.”

Stiles could see why Derek would like that.

“That and the Sik character fascinates me.” An almost mischievous smirk tugged at Derek’s mouth.

“Well, color me intrigued, Mr. Spock.”

“You should read it.”

“I just might.”

“Good night, Stiles.”

Chapter 15

It was not a good night. Stiles woke up screaming.

Even after he calmed down and convinced Derek to go back to bed, they were kicked out when the hotel manager and a police officer showed up at their door about the disturbance.

Stiles didn’t blame whichever neighbor had complained about them. It probably did sound like someone was being murdered. In Stiles’ nightmare, someone had been.

Chapter 16

“Stiles!”

Stiles startled and looked back at Derek, who was climbing the rail holding the tourists back from the sheer drop of the Grand Canyon. The rail Stiles had hopped over in order to get a better view from a more dangerous vantage point. 

Derek looked furious.

“I take my eyes off of you for one fucking second and you… get your ass away from the ledge, you asshole.” With that, Derek reached out, grabbed Stiles by the elbow, and yanked him back a pace from the edge.

“Hey!” he complained at the tight grip and rough handling.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“Relax, I wasn’t thinking about jumping.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue when the lie registered in Stiles’ heartbeat.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… okay, I _was_ , but not like _that_.”

“Stiles,” Derek growled.

“There’s a French term for it, you know. That thing where you think about jumping off cliffs and stuff. It’s l’appel du vide. I ran across it when I was trying to do some research on the Argent family.”

Stiles winced when Derek’s fingers tightened on his arm, sure to bruise at this point.

“You’re such a dick,” Derek proclaimed.

Stiles lifted his eyebrows.

“You know damn well why we’re here, why we’re doing this. What am I supposed to think?”

He realized how it probably looked from Derek’s perspective.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said gently. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

Derek’s nostrils flared and he seemed to loosen his grip only by sheer force of will.

“I didn’t come on this trip with you to…” Stiles gestured abstractly out over the canyon. “I _didn’t_ , okay?” Stiles took a half-step closer to Derek, for the werewolf’s comfort and his own, too. “Just… just don’t ask me if I ever thought about it before.” He couldn’t lie, and he didn’t want Derek to have that much over him.

Derek let out a breath and tugged Stiles closer. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

“Because you care?”

“ _No_ ,” Derek snarled. Stiles didn’t have to be able to hear heartbeats to know that was a lie. That made the fury in Derek’s eyes better. It was masking worry.

Derek hauled him back to the rail and all but tossed him over.

“Hey! Breakable human here,” Stiles complained as he picked himself up off the concrete.

Derek, already stalking back toward the car, froze and looked back at Stiles. “I know what l’appel du vide means.”

The call of the void.

Stiles felt sick.

Chapter 17

Sometimes, Derek just got surly for no reason. Or rather, no reason that Stiles knew. Derek used to have a big family – he probably mourned a lot of birthdays, anniversaries, and would-have-been milestones all in the privacy of his own tortured mind. Stiles had come to the conclusion that whenever Derek was a terror for no obvious reason, it was because it was a little sister or cousin’s birthday. It made it easier to deal with Derek on those bad days.

They stayed in the same motel a couple of hours from the Grand Canyon for three days because Derek didn’t want to be around him. He would be gone for hours on end doing who knew what, leaving Stiles to cool his heels in the motel by himself.

It was terrible, but Stiles didn’t mind. They’d been in each other’s pocket for weeks, and it was nice to have a break.

But it was also nice when Derek came back. Even if he was moody.

Chapter 18

“Cora used to love piggy-back rides.”

Stiles looked up from his food, mouth hanging open.

“She didn’t call them that, though. She called them wolfie-back rides.” With that, Derek tucked into his tacos as if he could hide in them.

It was the first unprompted comment about one of his siblings Derek had ever made, and Stiles knew it was significant. It was something so small, but it mattered so much.

Chapter 19

“The next car wash we see, we are stopping and vacuuming every inch of the inside of this car.”

“Dude, it’s not that bad.”

“Stiles, _trust me_ , it smells like Fritos and feet.”

Stiles overtly sniffed and he could smell it a little _maybe_. “I know for a fact the inside of this car has smelled worse.”

“We’re stopping.”

When they found a car wash, a lot of what they vacuumed out were sunflower seed shells in cervices, nooks, and crannies. Derek didn’t comment, and Stiles didn’t rub it in.

But Stiles had to admit that afterward the car smelled markedly better.

Chapter 20

To say Derek was not enthusiastic about the idea of going on a hike when Stiles suggested it was an understatement.

“We don’t have any gear for it.”

“Gear? What gear do we need for hiking? Hiking is just _walking_. We have shoes.”

“It’s not a hiking trail,” Derek countered.

“Well, it _should_ be. Look at those canyon formations with the different-colored striations. It’s like rock cake! It’s god damn land’s majesty, and _fine_ I want to get out and stretch my legs, okay? I know you big bad werewolves probably build muscles in your sleep, but us puny humans turn to jello if we don’t get a little exercise now and then.” It was truthfully less to do about Stiles being in need of a workout and more to do with the need to burn off some energy.

He was counting it a win, because it was the first time in years he’d felt that old restlessness that had once been his trademark. The nogitsune had left behind too much capacity for stillness in him, so still that at times he wondered how he continued to breathe.

He wanted to be _active_ , and he was jumping on that.

Derek seemed to get it, because he sighed. “Fine… let’s go for a walk.”

“Excellent. First thing, though… I want to get a selfie of us.”

Derek frowned. “Why?”

“Because it would do my dad a world of good to see me not bound and gagged in the trunk of your car?” Stiles sidled in beside Derek and held his phone out at arm’s length.

“These are so stupid,” Derek grumbled.

“Well, I’d be happy to let that cactus or that bush over there take our picture, but I just don’t trust their qualifications as photographers, you know? It’s so hard to find competent flora these days. Okay, one, two… dude, smile.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Why?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Because I bet Scott a lap dance that I could get you to smile.”

“Why in the hell would you do that?”

Stiles smiled at the camera while keeping Derek out of the corner of his eye. “Because my dear friend Scott, sweetheart though he may be, is not the brightest crayon in the box. He didn’t put any stipulations on the terms of the bet, and if I win, I am totally making him give that lap dance to Kira’s mother.”

The smile punched out of Derek with a strangled laugh. It only lasted a second, but Stiles was ready and clicked the picture.

“Yes!” Stiles crowed and pulled his phone back toward him. “I am so sending this to Scott and letting him know he better start working on his hip gyrations.” He also sent it to John, because that picture really would do him a world of good.

“Are you ready to go now?” Derek asked, grumpy like he was annoyed to have been photographed smiling, but kind of basking in the afterglow of being taken to that point.

“Yep. I’ve got my shoes on, a bottle of water… what else could I need?”

The answer: sunscreen.

Chapter 21

In the beginning, Stiles was the only one who took pictures. It was a silly, sentimental thing, he supposed. It was also a way to assuage John Stilinski’s worries. Neither of which reasons really applied to Derek.

For Stiles, it was those reasons and that the nogitsune had planted in him a real terror of not being able to tell the difference between real and not. So he wanted the pictures so he could scroll through them and know ‘yes, that happened’.

He never told Derek that last reason, but it wouldn’t surprise him if the werewolf didn’t figure it out anyway.

When Derek started using his phone to take pictures of his own, albeit sparingly, Stiles thought it was some passive-aggressive form of mockery. Then he accepted that maybe Derek wanted to remember something more than blood and fire, too.

Then he happened to get a hold of Derek’s phone and realized he’d been taking pictures much longer than he realized.

“Derek.”

“What?”

“This is a picture of me.”

“Nice work, Sherlock.”

“It’s a picture of me _sleeping_.” Stiles brandished the phone at him as evidence.

“That’s a picture of you face-down in the bed like an idiot trying to make a snow angel.”

“Why would you take a picture of that?”

“Because the way you sleep is ridiculous,” Derek argued and took back his phone.

“Your face is ridiculous,” Stiles grumbled, but something inside him felt strange at the idea that Derek had felt the impulse to take a picture of Stiles asleep. At first he thought it was just a shade creeped out, but no… it was warmer than that.

Maybe almost something like happy.

Chapter 22

“Well… it was bound to happen at some point.”

Derek just rolled his eyes at the single bed in the only hotel room they could find. Granted, they didn’t exactly scour the town. It was late, they were tired, and any bed sounded better than no bed.

“So… you want to flip for it?” Stiles offered weakly.

“No. I want to get some sleep. And you’re getting some sleep, too, because you’re crabby when you’re tired.”

“Pot meets kettle, Bitchy McCrabpants.” Stiles tugged wearily on his earlobe. “Wait, are you suggesting we share?”

“Do you _want_ to sleep on the floor?”

“No.” He considered Derek blearily. “Yeah, we can share. No problemo.”

Derek barely paused to kick off his shoes before he climbed onto the bed and fell asleep.

Stiles woke up with Derek pressed against his back. Not spooning, because Derek probably couldn’t even give his subconscious permission to cuddle, but Derek had rolled into Stiles’ back at some point during the night, arms tucked against his chest like he was still trying to shield himself, with his nose buried in the back of Stiles’ neck and giving Stiles goosebumps from the regular breath ghosting over his nape.

Stiles hated that he didn’t mind. He also didn’t move a muscle until Derek woke up and got out of bed.

Chapter 23

“We’re going to die.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are. We are going to die in the desert, and some poor bastard is going to find our dried-out husks in a month. We’re going to look like beef jerky.”

“Stiles, we’re _fine_.”

“We are not. We’re almost out of gas, and it’s like a hundred miles between gas stations out here in the great big nothing of the American southwest, and this is _not_ the glorious end I was hoping for.”

They both went quiet then, unwilling to follow that train of thought. Unwilling to address that Stiles had probably wondered how his life would end. In horrific detail. More than a person his age should.

Probably as much as Derek had wondered about his own.

A testament to their damage.

“Horror movies start out just like this,” Stiles muttered in mounting anxiety as he leaned over and eyed the needle of the Camaro’s gas gauge hovering perilous close to E.

Derek put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him away enough that he couldn’t fret over the gas gauge. “You really think after everything you’ve been through – and _survived_ – that _this_ is how you kick the bucket?”

“It’s the last jump-scare of the movie! Just when you think you can let down your guard, BAM!” Stiles lunged across the console at Derek to emphasize the point. 

Derek put a hand over Stiles’ face and shoved him back. “You know, you might be half-right.”

“Half?”

“Maybe _you’ll_ die. I won’t.”

“Because you’re too werewolf-awesome to die in the desert?”

“No. Because when you die, I’ll eat you.”

Stiles stared at Derek, torn between offended, amused, and proud.

Finally, Stiles sat back in the passenger seat. “At least tell my dad I was delicious.”

Derek put one hand over his mouth. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was to facepalm or smother a chuckle.

Chapter 24

On his good days, Stiles would call his father. On his bad days, he stuck to text messages. Knowing his dad, John had probably decoded the pattern after the first week, but it didn’t stop Stiles from hiding behind texts when things were rough. Stiles just hated the silences over the phone when he was having an off day. He hated how the quiet stretched across the line, because he knew it was his job to fill it. He was always the one filling awkward silences with rambling nonsense. It didn’t even matter what verbal garbage he crammed into the vacant spots, just as long as he wasn’t drowning in nothing.

Because his mother used to be just like him, and between the two of them the house was never quiet. Filled with chatter and singing and half-finished thoughts and tangents and laughter. Because when she died, Stiles did all he could to fill up the holes, because silence was too much like death. Whenever the house got quiet without his mother there, their home became her crypt.

Chapter 25

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked, curious. It had taken him days of possibly aimless driving away from LA for him to finally ask. It had taken him that long to care.

“I was thinking Yellowstone.”

“Cool.”

It was as much about having a destination as it was about having a reason to leave behind everywhere they’d been with purpose.

It was about the casting off of moorings, breaking free of chains. ‘Let me go’ the polar opposite of ‘let me in’. Racing toward horizons in defiance of having been a captive in his own mind.

Chapter 26

“It might be the end of the road, Dad,” Stiles said as soon as his father picked up after the first ring.

There was half a heartbeat when John didn’t respond, no doubt stricken with sudden terror believing Stiles was being literal. Not long ago, he could have said something just like that and meant it.

But the new (renewed) lightness in his son’s voice dislodged John’s power of speech. “That so?”

Stiles sighed dramatically. “Yeah… things have finally gotten dire out here.”

“Kanimas?”

Stiles chuckled, loving his father and his strange penchant to jump to the conclusion of kanima at every opportunity. He suspected John just liked the word. If they ever got a dog, he wouldn’t be surprised if John wanted to name it Kanima. “Worse. Derek ran out of hair gel.”

The sharp laughter from his dad made Stiles smile. Derek, reclining in his own bed reading ShineGold, shot a glare over at Stiles. His hair, usually doing something gravity-defying in the front, was falling over his forehead. Stiles would cherish forever the ten-minute war Derek had waged with the hair gel can trying to wring one last day’s-worth out of it.

“Obviously a sign of the apocalypse,” John agreed.

“Derek certainly seems to think so. He’s pouting.”

“I am _not_ ,” Derek growled.

“And he looks so _soft_.” Rock-hard bod notwithstanding, of course.

“ _I do not_.”

“Honestly, I kind of want to pet him.”

“Try it and I will bite your hand off.”

“That’s really more than I need to hear,” John broke back into the conversation.

Stiles flushed. “Not… not like _that_!” he yelped. Then he thought about it. He stopped breathing, mouth falling open in shock when a rush of warmth rippled through him, there and gone in a flash, but it might as well have been a brushfire consuming him whole.

It was the barest peek of a sensation he knew from a lifetime ago. It was almost arousal.

It was gone before he could grab hold of it – considering the catalyst, he wasn’t sure he _should_ hold on to that – but it had been so long since he’d felt it quickening in his blood. Since his heart had hammered in something other than fear and his stomach had held butterflies instead of lead.

God, he wanted that back. He might feel half-alive, or at least no longer half-dead, if he could be aroused again.

“I’m not here to judge,” John countered, “just be safe.”

Derek snorted, because of course he could hear every word.

Stiles just kind of marveled at what John was really telling him. That his father would be okay with it. Him and Derek. Not that there _was_ a ‘him and Derek’, but knowing that John would give his blessing to Stiles being in a relationship with another guy…

He’d always _known_ his father would be accepting _if_ … but only in the sense that his father was awesome and therefore _should_ be fine with it. To not be fine with it would fly in the face of being awesome. Ergo.

But it was nice to actually hear it. Stiles didn’t know he had any anxiety about that until it was just _gone_.

Chapter 27

The tone of the phone calls with John Stilinski had changed ever since Stiles sent him the picture of him and Derek smiling. Perhaps that was the moment his father began to believe that this road trip might actually be working. That, as farfetched as it sounded, maybe Stiles could outrun the darkness in his heart.

Chapter 28

Derek spent a couple of days scowling at his reflection at every opportunity before he brought up trying to find a store that carried his hair gel.

Stiles snickered. Then he sobered. “Yeah, we can if you want. But…”

Derek looked at him expectantly. “But?”

Stiles fidgeted and averted his eyes. “Well… nothing, just…” he spared a glance up at Derek and gestured toward his hair, “you look good like this.” Less severe. Softer.

Derek stared at him a second, expression unreadable, then he turned his attention back to the road.

He never stopped for hair gel.

Chapter 29

Most days they left hotels early in the morning, but they were beholden unto no one, so sometimes they didn’t. Some days they just needed to sleep in. Stiles suspected Derek went to great lengths not to wake him on the rare days when Stiles was able to sleep. They didn’t talk about it, but Stiles appreciated it _a lot_. He’d lived so long on inadequate sleep, enough to understand that a good night’s sleep was _priceless_.

The previous night had not been one of those nights. He had nightmares. Not the horrific ones that tore him awake screaming in the middle of the night, but bad enough that he woke ungodly early and felt off-kilter. Like his skeleton was made of a stranger’s bones.

Not interested in risking returning to that dreamscape, Stiles climbed out of bed and went to sit in the chair by the window. He had to round Derek’s bed nearest the door to do it. Derek, always woken when Stiles had bad dreams, looked over at Stiles in silent question.

Stiles just shook his head. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant running.

Derek nodded faintly and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Stiles was grateful. They’d learned to speak in body language almost more than words on this trip. It was a relief to not have to say it.

When Derek finally rolled out of bed a few hours later, it was raining outside. The air was thick, the sky gray, and everything about the day encouraged laziness. Instead of leaving right away, they decided to hang out in the room until check-out time.

The dreary day matched Stiles’ mood. He watched the rain out the window, half-lost in thoughts. He thought about graveyards and rain-soaked tombstones. He thought about blood on cherry blossoms and homes with paper walls consumed by fire. He thought about standing before the sea and challenging ‘ _you think you can hold me?_ ’

He startled when a hand landed lightly on his shoulder. He looked up to find Derek standing next to him, frowning.

“What?”

“I don’t like where your head’s at,” Derek explained lowly.

Stiles grunted and looked back out the window at the world awash in the sky’s weeping.

Derek sat on the edge of his bed close to Stiles. He didn’t press, and that was exactly what Stiles needed.

“I think I might have some of its memories.”

“The nogitsune’s?”

Stiles nodded tensely. “Yeah. I mean, obviously I have the memories of what he did while he was possessing me. But there are other… things… stuff I didn’t do, things I _couldn’t_ have done, but when I close my eyes… I don’t know. There’s some really scary shit in my head. They feel like memories.”

Derek pursed his lips unhappily.

“And if it could leave behind memories, what if it left behind something worse?”

“Like what?”

“Like part of its evil.” Stiles stole a worried glance at Derek. “What if it’s in me, and it’s spreading or growing, _metastasizing_ , and I won’t know it until I _do_ something? What if it’s just a matter of time before I go dark side again?” And if he _did_ , who would stop him next time? Who would die trying to save him then?

“I don’t believe that.”

Stiles scoffed. “I don’t share your optimism.” Then he laughed humorlessly. “God, look at me harping on _you_ for being optimistic! Who’d have thought?”

“You’re not a monster, Stiles. You’re not going to turn _into_ one.”

Stiles glowered. “You can’t feel it like I do. There’s evil in me.”

“I’m not saying there isn’t. But it’s not the nogitsune.”

Stiles blanched. “Fuck, then what is it?”

“It’s you.”

Stiles gaped. Then he exploded. “What the shit, Derek?! Is that your idea of making me feel _better_? You _fail_ at comforting, just so you know. Seriously. _You suck balls_.”

“Your dad seems to think so,” Derek answered with an off-hand shrug.

Stiles stared a moment, stunned speechless, then he laughed. For real this time. When he got himself back under control, he wiped tears from his eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were from laughing or the crushing weight of his fears, and he didn’t want to know. Derek didn’t mention them, either.

What Derek did say was, “History is full of people doing evil things, and demons weren’t to blame. _People_ were. All humans have the capacity for evil. Werewolves, too.”

That sounded so utterly hopeless. That even if he managed to completely cut out the nogitsune’s evil, he still had to live with his own. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Not let it win. Be better than your demons.”

Stiles pondered that a moment. He wanted to argue, but he had a feeling Derek knew more than anyone about battling their inner demons.

“It gets better?” he asked in the end, hating how unsteady his voice sounded, but he _needed_ a lifeline.

“It gets better,” Derek agreed.

Stiles wasn’t so certain.

“I know that’s hard to believe right now, but I’m living proof,” Derek said. “Just hang in there. Even when you think you have nothing left, hold on. We’ll get through this.”

The ‘we’ was deliberate.

That was what Stiles needed to hear.

Chapter 30

The thing about the bad days was that they could be followed immediately by very good days. The difference could be night and day. It could take nothing more than a night and day for Stiles’ world to look brand new.

It was the day leading up to a full moon, and Derek was being particularly saucy. Stiles didn’t get to see playful Derek nearly enough, and it could eclipse his bad mood like nothing else.

“If you take the highway until Exit – _eeyah_! Derek! Stop it!” Stiles kept his phone with google maps in one hand while he swatted Derek’s hand away from his side with the other.

“Nope, not happening,” Derek countered with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I found out you’re ticklish. You can never let down your guard again. _Ever_.”

“If this is some fucked up version of dark arts training – constant vigilance and all that crap – then let me inform you that it won’t work. _Lockhart_ was a better DA teacher than you. Now, _as I was saying_ , you want to take Exit – _eeeeiy_!” Derek had reached over and was digging his fingers into Stiles’ ribs. He had Stiles pinned against the passenger side door, and with his werewolf strength there wasn’t a damn thing Stiles could do about it but wiggle and shriek.

“Derek Hale, I’m warning you! Stop it or I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Giggle like a schoolgirl? Too late.”

“I don’t _giggle_!” Stiles railed while he giggled.

“Sounds like giggling to me.”

“I… can’t… _breathe_!... Derek, stop it! _Please_!”

“Fine.” Derek pulled his hand back.

Stiles slouched breathlessly in the seat. “I hate full-moon you. Haaaate it.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek smirked.

Stiles smiled. “No, I don’t.”

They missed their exit.

Stiles blamed Derek.

He also credited him with turning his dark mood around, too. It was like he’d left a large piece of his fears behind in the puddle-filled parking lot of the hotel. Not entirely, but a big chunk of it. It was baggage he just declined to pack.

Chapter 31

“Will you _please_ pull over?”

“There’s a rest stop in fifteen miles.”

“I can’t hold it that long!” Stiles squirmed in the passenger seat and contemplated the possibility that Derek was torturing him.

“I told you not to get a soda that big.”

“You were right, you get a gold star, now stop the car before I piss my pants.”

“It would serve you right.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. Then he looked down at the cup holders in the center console. Specifically at Derek’s bottle of water, down to the last two swallows, next to his _empty_ jumbo-sized coke cup. Stiles snatched up the bottle, uncapped it, and chugged down the last bit of water in it.

“You really think that’s going to help?” Derek asked incredulously.

Stiles smiled smugly. “No, but I need the bottle.” Then he shifted his knees apart and unzipped his pants.

“ _Stiles_.”

“I’m whipping it out in the next ten seconds whether you stop or not.”

“Shit,” Derek hissed and swerved off the road so fast that the tires squealed.

The second the car rocked to a stop, Stiles unbuckled and launched himself outside. He pee-pee danced/jogged a few paces away to a bush before he couldn’t go a step farther without popping. He yanked his dick from his underwear and let loose the most satisfying stream of urine in his entire life.

“ _Ooooh_ yeah, _gawd_ , that feels good. I’m putting this on the list.” After ‘good night’s sleep’ he was adding ‘great piss’ to his list of the best things in life.

From his spot by the car, Derek said, “I hope there’s a rattlesnake in that bush, and I hope you piss it off so much that it bites you.”

“Piss it off? Ha! I see what you did there!” Stiles snuck a look over his shoulder back at Derek, who had his phone out. “If the snake bites my wang, will you suck out the venom?”

Derek thunked his forehead down on to the roof of the Camaro.

Stiles cackled.

Chapter 32

“You know what the scariest part was?”

“You could narrow it down?”

Stiles nodded, chewing on his straw and staring out at the diner parking lot. It was easier to have this conversation without looking at Derek.

“It _all_ sucked, of course. And scariest doesn’t mean ‘worst’, because hurting people and being the reason people died…” Stiles swallowed and stared down at his salad. Enough diner food had made him feel acutely for his father’s arteries and detest hamburgers and their greasy nefariousness. For today. He’d probably want a cheeseburger tomorrow. “But the scariest part was in the beginning, when we didn’t know it was a demon. When I thought I was sick. Like my mom.”

Derek paused in his eating, Stiles saw it from the corner of his eye, but he refused to look up.

“When my mom first started getting sick, she would do weird stuff. Sleepwalk out into the road with no shoes on looking for the dog. We didn’t _have_ a dog. Or she’d put all the remotes in the refrigerator and not remember why she did it. Sometimes she’d go to drop me off at school in the morning and we’d end up at the bus station or the library. She’d feel so bad about it, when she came back to herself, that we’d just go inside and I’d skip school and spend the whole day in the library. There were a lot of nights when I had cake or candy or ice cream for dinner because she wasn’t mentally _there_ enough to refuse when I asked for it, and I was a stupid kid and took advantage of…” Stiles huffed and picked at his lettuce. “One night, when she’d gotten a lot worse, she woke up in a panic, screaming for me. Dad was at work, so it was just me with her, and when I ran to her, she was yelling and wanting to know what I’d done with Stiles. She was looking for _baby_ -me. I kept telling her ‘Mom, it’s me, it’s Stiles’ but she… she didn’t recognize me. She was looking for her baby. I’d never seen her so scared in my life.” Stiles swiped at a tear tracking down his cheek. “She was crying, and I was crying, and I kept telling her ‘Mom, I’m right here’, but she was frantic and started tearing the house apart looking for her baby.

“I called Dad at the station. He rushed home and found me hiding in my closet. I… I was afraid of what Mom might do if… like, what if she thought _I’d_ done something to her baby?”

Derek had not moved a muscle since Stiles started talking.

“I know she was sick. She couldn’t help it. But it was terrifying to be eight years old and not know what your mother might do to you.” Stiles stabbed at a piece of lettuce repeatedly, turning it into pulp beneath the tines. “Dad took her to the hospital that night. She never left it.”

Derek flinched.

Stiles pressed on. “The scariest part with the nogitsune was when I thought that was happening to me, too. It sounds insane, but it was kind of a relief when I found out it was a demon. Because there was no guarantee how that would end. I had a fucking good _guess_ , but I wasn’t one-hundred percent _sure_. But I knew how frontotemporal dementia ends.”

Derek’s hand started across the tabletop toward him and stopped halfway.

“I don’t want to die like my mom did.”

“You won’t.”

Chapter 33

“I know about Paige.”

Derek froze in the middle of throwing a wadded-up pair of jeans in the laundromat washing machine and looked over at Stiles with an inscrutable expression.

Stiles, sitting cross-legged atop a dryer (‘reserving it’ he claimed), winced. “Um… Peter told me. I just… thought you should know… that I know.”

Derek didn’t move for a long time (probably not that long, but long enough to make Stiles uncomfortable), then he tossed the jeans into the machine. With his back turned to Stiles as he dug through their combined bag of dirty laundry, he asked, “Do you know about Kate, too?”

“That she killed your family? Yeah. Hate to break it to you, dude, but everyone knows that by now.”

Derek shook his head and threw in a handful of their underwear a little harder than strictly necessary. “I mean about _me and Kate_.”

The emphasis on ‘me and Kate’ sounded significant, but Stiles wasn’t sure how Derek meant it. “I know she had some kind of sick fascination with you. I mean, even for a hunter it was kind of over the top. Like, Chris Argent was never up in your grill the way Kate was. Serious stalker fetish shit.” Stiles considered Derek a moment. “I’m going to assume from the broody brow of gloom that there’s more to that which you’re not telling me which obviously I don’t know.” 

Derek stopped and took a breath.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

For a minute, Stiles thought he wouldn’t. And that was fine. Derek finished loading the washing machine, added the detergent, and started the cycle before he turned to face Stiles. He looked sick.

“I slept with Kate when I was sixteen.”

Stiles blinked. “When you… dude, how old was _she_?”

“Twenty-four.”

“ _Jesus Christ_ …”

“She told me things I wanted to hear. Made me think…” Derek scowled and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she used me, and I was an idiot and gave her everything she wanted. She used me to kill my family.”

Stiles felt an ache in his chest like a spear through the heart. “Oh my god…”

Derek turned away from him.

Stiles jumped off the dryer and rushed to Derek’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder to tug him back around to face him. “Derek, you were a _kid_. What that crazy bitch did wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

“I let her get too close. That’s on me.”

“No. No, it’s not, because you were sixteen and she was an adult. That’s called statutory rape.”

Derek shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you want to call it. My family’s still dead.”

Stiles studied Derek a long time, hurting for him so much that it overshadowed any of his own pain. He dropped his hand from Derek’s shoulder and stood far too close. Derek didn’t seem to mind; he could have stepped back or pushed Stiles away, but he did neither.

“You and Kate… did that have to do with Paige?” he asked softly.

Derek gave a shrug that was as good as a confession. “I pushed my family away after what happened with Paige. I should have turned to them for support, but I didn’t want them to look at me the way I did. I isolated myself from the pack. Made myself vulnerable. Kate was there waiting to pounce.”

“Fuck. I knew she was a manipulative bitch, but _fuck_.” Stiles scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Geez, no wonder you have people issues.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow at him.

“And trust issues.”

“And women issues,” Derek added drolly.

Stiles huffed and nodded. “ _You_ make a lot more sense now.” He wished he’d known in the beginning. It would have changed so much knowing Derek’s asshole behavior was due to his loneliness and guilt. It would have mattered knowing that Derek wasn’t the predator he seemed to be, but rather a victim hiding behind a wall of anger. 

Stiles clenched his jaw furiously. “Just the _thought_ of her hurting you, _forcing_ you…” Stiles thought he felt that darkness in him, that evil, spark to life. It didn’t even scare him. He’d welcome it, he’d use it, if he could make the people who hurt Derek _pay_.

Derek’s face looked drawn. “I felt better about her electrocuting me than I did about her having sex with me.”

“That is _so_ messed up. You didn’t deserve that.” Any of it.

Derek didn’t agree with him. Stiles didn’t push him to. Because Derek could always come back at him with the nogitsune’s reign of terror not being Stiles’ fault. Stiles wouldn’t believe that any more than Derek would believe Stiles about Kate and the fire not being Derek’s fault.

They had guilt in common.

Chapter 34

‘WELCOME TO WYOMING’

Stiles considered the slightly blurry photo he’d taken when they drove past the sign. He deemed it satisfactory and sent it to his dad.

He thought about it a second then sent a follow-up text.

_Stiles: :)_

Chapter 35

They decided to spend several days at Yellowstone National Park. Because the park was popular and the hotels were nearly full, they had to settle for a room with a single king bed for the duration.

Bed-sharing didn’t even give them pause anymore. Stiles was glad to wake up next to a living, breathing werewolf. It made shaking off the nightmare-visions of cold, lifeless corpses easier.

Derek tended to gravitate toward Stiles in his sleep, like a heat-seeking missile. Maybe it was a werewolf thing. Maybe it was just a Derek thing. Neither of them spoke about it, but their easy acceptance of it suggested it helped them both.

Chapter 36

They saw bison and elk and beavers and bears, but Stiles’ favorite were the wolves. They were in the distance, and apparently tourist sightings of them were rare.

“They totally came out of hiding for you!” Stiles exclaimed as he manhandled Derek into position for a selfie with the wolves in the background. Derek didn’t deign to wipe the judgmental look off his face for the picture, but Stiles was used to it and therefore immune.

“Try to howl at them,” Stiles pleaded.

“No.”

“Come on, Derek, _pleeeease_?”

“Why do you want me to bother them? How would you like it if you were in your room minding your own business and strangers were standing out on the sidewalk yelling at you?”

“I have werewolves sneaking in my window on a semi-regular basis,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek paused. “Okay, you have a point.” Then he glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. When he was confident there wasn’t, he took a deep breath and howled.

The wolves all went stock-still and their heads swiveled to look sharply toward Derek. Their ears were erect.

One by one, they tipped their heads back and howled in answer.

“ _Holy shit_ , that is _so cool_ ,” Stiles crowed. He didn’t even realize he was clutching at Derek’s arm. “Can you tell what they’re saying?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Really_? _What_??”

“They’re saying ‘Stiles is an idiot’.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes for all of a second before he smiled again. “Nice try, but not even your sourwolfiness can ruin the badassery of this moment. You’re enjoying this and you know it.”

Derek’s mouth ticked at the corners. “Doesn’t mean you’re not also an idiot,” he said, but there was no real hostility in his voice.

Chapter 37

“Eeeyah!” Stiles squawked and danced away from the spray of Old Faithful’s geyser of water.

Derek laughed at him with his phone suspiciously poised. “You knew it was coming. It’s _Old Faithful_. You have no right to act surprised.”

“Yeah, well, I still jump when the toast pops out of the toaster, so,” he punctuated his sentence by sticking his tongue out at Derek.

Derek smiled and snagged Stiles’ elbow to tug him closer. They were both wet from standing unwisely downwind of the geyser. Stiles tried not to let his eyes linger on the hint of musculature through Derek’s wet shirt.

Derek put his arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

“Let’s put your dad’s mind at ease,” he answered. And Stiles smiled. He’d mentioned in passing how much better John felt about their road trip after Stiles sent that picture of them both smiling. Derek tended to shy from selfies (because he was clearly secretly eighty years old and couldn’t abide by those dang whippersnappers and their selfies), but he was offering now.

Stiles took out his phone, prepped the camera one-handed, and put his other arm around Derek’s shoulders.

Chapter 38

Stiles knew the anatomy of a nightmare too well. Even in sleep, he knew when it was bad, and when it would get worse.

But he never got to experience the ‘worse’, because before it could go that far he was shaken awake. He blinked his eyes open to see Derek lying in the bed next to him, hand on his shoulder and concern in his eyes.

Stiles heaved a breath. “Thanks.”

Derek nodded and shifted slightly closer.

Chapter 39

“Ugh.”

“What?” Derek looked over at Stiles at the noise.

Stiles looked down at his phone. “Just Scott. He’s giving me TMI about some ‘performance issue’ he’s having with Kira. Gross.” Stiles texted back a flippant and unhelpful (but hilarious) suggestion and put his phone back in the console cubbyhole next to Derek’s.

They were leaving Yellowstone, heading south, but reluctantly. They’d both enjoyed their stay in the park. It was the first place they’d been that they hadn’t actually wanted to leave.

“Can I ask you a question?” Derek said haltingly.

“When have you ever censured yourself for my benefit?” Derek’s pointed silence suggested that was a topic Stiles best not dissect. “Go ahead.”

“Why are you friends with Scott?” When Stiles merely raised his eyebrows, Derek continued, “In the time I’ve known you two, he’s kind of come across as a shitty friend.”

“You mean with the completely flaking out the second a girl is paying him the slightest bit of attention? Or maybe how he can be a really insensitive ass and not even realize it? Or like whining about his silly-in-love problems to me when I’ve left home to try to save some scrap of my sanity?”

Derek looked surprised. “So you _know_.”

“Dude, of course I do. I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not… which is why I don’t really understand why you put up with Scott half the time.”

“To be fair, you’re not sure why Scott puts up with me, either.”

Derek smirked but did not deny it.

Stiles watched the scenery whipping past out the passenger window a moment before speaking. “When I was little, I had more friends. Not a ton, but there was Heather and Thomas and I even played with Danny sometimes. Then Mom got sick.” Stiles chewed on his lip. “I didn’t handle her illness well. I lashed out at people. I was mad at the _disease_ , but I couldn’t attack _that_. So I’d act out against my friends, my teachers, my dad… even my mom, sometimes.” Stiles winced, because he regretted that one the most. He had the chance to make it up to everyone else. “One by one, the other kids stopped hanging out with me. Everyone but Scott. He was like a _leech_. No matter how awful I was, I couldn’t get rid of him. Maybe it was because his mom was a nurse, so she explained things better to him. I don’t know. But by the time Mom died, everyone else was long gone. I was persona non grata at all the Beacon Hills birthday parties. Scott was the only one who stuck by me.” He looked over at Derek. “For that, I am willing to forgive Scott for just about anything.”

Derek spared a glance at Stiles and met his gaze for a moment. “That… actually makes me look at Scott differently.”

“Scott has his faults, no question, but so do I. If he’s willing to look past mine, I can overlook his. Because the truth is, he was there for me when no one else could be bothered.”

Stiles’ phone chimed and he fetched it to read the latest text message.

“ _Uugh_! Though I might revise that policy if he gives me any more information about his _dick_.”

Derek snorted. “Maybe you just need to see a picture to figure out what his problem is.”

Stiles looked at Derek, horrified. “ _NO_! Derek, don’t you _dare_ tell Scott to send me a dick pic! Because that idiot _will_!”

Derek fought back laughter. “He totally would.”

Chapter 40

“What the fuck, Derek.”

“What?”

“You used my toothbrush!”

“I did not.”

“Well, then why is it wet? Huh?”

“Maybe I dunked it in the toilet.”

“… Derek, _please_ tell me you used my toothbrush.”

Chapter 41

They’d been on the road roughly two months when Stiles looked over at Derek in the passenger seat. “How long do you think we’ll keep at this?”

Derek shrugged. “Not sure. Laura and I only stopped when we ran out of United States.”

“You want to start heading east?” Stiles asked curiously.

“Only if you do.”

Stiles considered it, but in the end he didn’t want quite that much distance between him and his father.

“How do you feel about Vegas?”

“I think it’s a cesspool of poor taste, tacky lights, and broken dreams.”

“So, you wanna go?”

“Of course I do.”

Chapter 42

When his dreams were not nightmares, they were kind of disorienting. Stiles had grown so used to jolting awake in terror that the times when he _didn’t_ left him momentarily confused. Like he’d walked into a house missing an entire wall and he couldn’t figure out at what point he’d gone from outside to inside.

Stiles breathed in the harsh detergent of the motel sheets, Derek, and a hint of cigarette smoke (though all the rooms were supposedly nonsmoking). He opened his eyes and took in the dark room and shapes and Derek in the bed across from him by the light stealing through the cheap curtains. He was aware of his heartbeat, just as confused as his mind about their state of wakefulness.

He lay still and existed in a fugue-like state in between conscious and unconscious. Once, that haze of confusion would have scared him, but he knew better. The limbo between living and dreams was much better than the horror of nightmares. He’d take the waking state that was like being submerged in water over katanas and firefly eyes any day.

Stiles stared absently at Derek, because he was moving and it drew Stiles’ eye amid the rest of the still room. Derek was lying on his back and looking down at himself, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Stiles followed Derek’s eyes to watch what he did, a spot halfway down Derek’s body where the covers were rising and falling.

Stiles watched a hard shape bob up and down underneath the covers far longer than he should have before he figured it out. He finally realized ‘holy fuck, Derek’s jerking off’. And it made sense he would be; they’d been in close quarters for months, and there was no reason to think Derek wouldn’t jerk off at some point on their trip. If Stiles wasn’t fucked up, he would have already done it, too. But he _was_ fucked up, so he _hadn’t_ , but that didn’t stop _Derek_.

Clearly. Since Derek was doing it _right now_.

The realization kicked Stiles firmly into the waking world with something halfway between a squeak and a gasp.

Derek startled and gave a whole-body twitch as he partially angled his hips away and his hand stopped moving under the sheets. He looked over at Stiles with a look on his face that was some lovechild of panic, embarrassment, and anger. “Shit, I thought you were…” he whispered gruffly.

Stiles gaped and blinked. He couldn’t do anything _else_. Some force was gripping his body and stealing his ability to reason, to speak, to _think_.

Derek tensed. “Uh… sorry… I’ll just… do this in the bathroom.”

Something was looming over Stiles, filling him with urgency and greed and every emotion he had all at once until it was too much. Too much and not nearly enough. He hadn’t felt so overwhelmed – and not with terror or anger or guilt – in ages.

“It’s fine,” he whispered.

Derek stilled and looked warily at Stiles.

Stiles ventured a hand out of his blanket cocoon and waved fingers at Derek. “Bro code. You don’t have to… uh… stop.”

Derek stared hard at Stiles.

Stiles licked his lips, mouth suddenly and unaccountably dry.

Finally, Derek rolled flat on to his back again. “All right…”

Stiles lay unmoving on his side facing Derek.

Derek huffed. “Are you going to watch?” His voice belied annoyance, but there was something else to it. Stiles didn’t know what to call it, that layer under his words, but it did not seem intent on scaring Stiles away.

In answer, Stiles just breathed out louder than he meant to.

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles, as if trying to wait him out or test him, then he repositioned himself on the bed and the rhythmic rise and fall of his fist under the sheets resumed. As soon as his hand moved over his dick, Derek ground out a noise that was not yet a moan but not quite a whisper. He slowly undulated, from neck and shoulders to toes, the movement rolling through him languidly. His knees and feet and belly and chest slipped beneath the covers, shapes appearing and disappearing from below the sea of comforter. Derek pushed up into his hand with a hiss from between his teeth and a creak from the mattress. His hand rode up and down his length, his fist a tight protrusion against the underside of the bedding. Derek bit back a noise and curled himself, knees up and shoulders forward, when his body yanked a more urgent movement through him. He opened his legs and fell back against the pillow, arching as his hand began to move faster.

Stiles felt like he was all heartbeat and not enough air. He couldn’t tear his eyes from all of Derek, from his open mouth to his curling toes, and he cursed that nearly all of it was hidden. He wanted to see the way Derek’s muscles flexed, the way the tendons in his forearm would dance, the way his stomach would clench, how his dick would throb and leak.

Shit, he just _wanted_.

Derek’s breathing began to falter. His hand punched faster against the covers. He looked down at his lap, as if he could see straight through the sheets blocking his view. He made a needy, breathy sound, hunched his shoulders to his work, and Stiles could see the full-body tightness grip him as he grunted. He pumped furiously, abs crunching and pulling him taut, breath caught in his throat. Then he laid back and took a huge gulp of air, body unfurling and knees falling open loosely as he stroked himself slowly through the end of his orgasm.

Stiles wanted to run and hide and fly apart and dive under his covers, Derek’s covers, he wanted to scream and he wanted to sigh and _be_.

His belly and groin ached with _want_. Not arousal, because even after watching _that_ he wasn’t hard, but he _wanted_ to be. He yearned for it. He wanted to be better, god damnit.

He wanted that pure moment of bliss that came with getting off, instead of the pure horror he’d known for far too long.

Chapter 43

They didn’t talk about it. Derek didn’t seem mad that Stiles had watched him masturbate, and if he wasn’t upset then Stiles wasn’t about to tempt fate by bringing it up with him.

Stiles tried touching himself the next morning in the shower. He gave up after a few pathetic tugs at his flaccid length. There was just too much skin that didn’t feel like his own, and when it didn’t feel like his it was the nogitsune’s. They’d looked the same – same fingers, same moles, same thatch of pubic hair, same hip bones. Stiles was used to having a jerk-off session stolen from him, but he’d never been quite so angry about it before.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten off in the last two years, but it was hard to get himself there, and it never really felt good. He had to wrench an orgasm out of himself like it was a punishment. Something distasteful. Like he was expelling poison from his body.

Given all the fucked up shit going on in his head, the fact that he had become an infrequent and resentful masturbator was low on this list of problems. He wasn’t happy about it by any means, but he was a lot more upset about the screaming-awake-nightmares than he was about having almost zero libido. Big picture and all that.

But that morning, Stiles actually wanted a good, toe-curling, knee-weakening, pornographic orgasm, and his body wasn’t going to let him have it.

It was not the first time he’d hated his body.

It wasn’t even the first time he’d wished he didn’t have to be in his own skin. His was tainted. Maybe beyond repair.

Chapter 44

It was one of those days when they left the hotel at the crack of dawn because Stiles was jolted awake by destruction and death. Derek didn’t even have to ask anymore. When Stiles shakily got out of bed and groped around in the dark for a change of clothes, Derek rolled out of bed and got ready to go.

Stiles had gotten dressed in the dark.

So he didn’t notice until they stopped a few hours later for a bathroom break and he unzipped his fly that he’d grabbed a pair of Derek’s underwear.

He laughed to himself while he pissed, utterly horrifying the one other guy in the restroom. His laughter was tinged with that mania of sleep deprivation and the aftermath of nightmares, but he couldn’t _not_ laugh.

When he walked back out to the car, where Derek was filling up the Camaro with gas and gnawing on a sunflower seed, Derek took one look at his face and cocked his head. “What?”

“Man… we have _seriously_ lost any sense of boundaries.”

Derek lifted his eyebrows in an unspoken ‘you think?’

Right. Said the guy who’d watched Derek jack off.

Stiles flushed and a fleeting heat swept through his body, still too elusive to hold on to. Frustration chewed at his gut.

“Want to drive?” Derek asked.

Stiles perked up. “I can never say no to Betty.”

Chapter 45

Even with his werewolf reflexes, Derek couldn’t jerk the wheel fast enough to avoid the animal that darted in front of the car. It had been an endless stretch of desert road with squat cacti bunched up along the shoulder, then suddenly a brown shape ran into the road.

“ _Shit_!” Derek swerved. Stiles flailed his arms out to brace himself against the dashboard and the ceiling as the car oscillated wildly. The tires squealed, Derek cursed, then there was a blunt, heavy ‘thud’ and the car jolted on the driver’s side.

Derek slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. Stiles craned around in his seat and looked back out the rear window. Some poor creature was writhing on the asphalt.

“Fuck,” Derek snarled as he looked in the rearview mirror.

Stiles was out of the car in the next breath. 

“Stiles! Wait for me.”

But Stiles didn’t. He walked back to the animal that was crumpled and broken on the road. It was a coyote. Stiles came to a stop a few paces away and watched it struggle. Its back had obviously been broken. Its hind legs were twisted and useless. The coyote was trying to drag itself to safety, but more than a snapped spine was wrong, because as it panted and yowled piteously blood dripped out of its mouth.

Stiles stood and watched and thought he should probably feel _something_. He wasn’t sure what it meant that he didn’t.

“Ah hell,” Derek grumbled as he came up alongside Stiles and regarded the dying animal. It stared up at them, wide-eyed and in shock. Stiles wondered if it just saw the two of them, or maybe a third behind their shoulders. They _had_ brought death with them. Maybe instead of a black cloak and scythe, the reaper had metal teeth and a penchant for riddles.

“Do you think it’s Malia?” Stiles wondered absently.

Derek looked up sharply at Stiles. “ _Jesus_ , Stiles.” He wasn’t sure if that was an expression of disgust or worry.

Derek approached the coyote as calmly as he could. The animal’s front legs gave out and it collapsed. It lay in a twisted, broken heap. The coyote struggled for air and looked up at Derek as he crouched beside it. Derek laid his hands on the coyote, and Stiles knew what the lines of black traveling up Derek’s arms meant.

The coyote wheezed and slumped, blinking up slowly at Derek.

Derek petted it and whispered, “Shhh… easy,” then he unsheathed his claws and tore out its throat.

It died quickly.

Stiles let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Derek rested a hand atop the dead canid’s head and looked up at Stiles. He faltered. “Stiles?”

“What?”

“You’re…” he gestured at Stiles’ face.

Stiles swiped at it with one hand and found it wet with tears.

Chapter 46

They stopped for the night around nine and had dinner at a dodgy chicken joint near the motel. Stiles was up at eleven puking his guts out. At two in the morning, he gave up on the idea of sleep entirely and set up camp on the bathroom floor next to the toilet. 

Derek carried all the pillows from the beds into the bathroom so Stiles could build a nest and hopefully be slightly more comfortable while camped out on the hard floor.

“I hate you right now for not being able to get food poisoning,” Stiles croaked.

Derek knelt on the floor next to him and gave a wry look. “Do you think both of us fighting over the toilet would improve the situation somehow?”

Stiles glared feebly. “No, but misery loves company.”

“I’m keeping you company,” Derek pointed out.

Stiles might have said something about Derek being a sweetheart under all the teeth and claws, but in the next second he was scrambling for the rim of the toilet bowl and heaving.

He was still violently ill the next morning when they were pressing check-out time. Derek went to try and get the room for another night and came back furious. “It’s booked for tonight and they don’t have any other rooms available,” he growled.

Stiles looked up from where he was curled into a ball on the bathroom floor and wanted to throw a tantrum. “Derek, man… I _can’t_.”

“I know.” Derek scowled and fisted his keys. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Derek was gone a long time, it seemed like. At least it did from the cold linoleum between bouts of vomiting and feeling like death warmed over.

When Derek finally came back, he checked on Stiles first, then he went back out into the room and banged around. Stiles didn’t really think about what Derek was doing, because he felt like absolute hell. Derek could be doing interpretive dance out there and Stiles wouldn’t give a shit. All he was interested in doing was closing his eyes and dying. Oh, the sweet release of death.

“Hey…” he was nudged awake a minute later by Derek.

“What?”

“Come on… I found another room at a place down the road.”

Stiles whimpered. 

Derek winced. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s the closest one I could find, but I reserved it for two nights, so let’s just get there and you don’t have to go anywhere until you’re feeling better, okay?”

Not really, but it didn’t seem like they had a choice.

Derek helped Stiles to his feet and eased him out of the bathroom into the main room. Derek had packed up the room already, the only thing left to take to the car was Stiles. On their way out the door, Derek stole the trashcan and pushed it into Stiles’ arms. “Try not to barf in the car.”

“Don’t _talk_ about it or I _will_ ,” Stiles moaned and clutched the trashcan to his chest.

Derek got him into the passenger seat and Stiles closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He’d never felt the car maneuvered so carefully before. Derek had to be going all of ten miles per hour, probably pissing off anyone driving behind them. Stiles concentrated on the familiar hum of the engine, on the too-loud turn signal, and on the sense of Derek next to him to distract himself from his roiling stomach.

Then the car was stopped and Derek was crouching in the open passenger side door. “Hey… we’re here.”

Stiles unbuckled and swung his legs out, but there he had to stop as a swell of nausea threatened to crawl its way up his throat. He swallowed hard and leaned over the trashcan in his lap.

After a few seconds without any stomach pyrotechnics, Derek took the trashcan from Stiles and set it on the ground next to the Camaro. Then he hooked an arm under Stiles’ knees, reached around his back, and lifted him gently from the car. Stiles felt too horrible to have any pride left to wound. He just laid his head on Derek’s shoulder and kept his eyes closed as Derek carried him in his arms.

He didn’t open his eyes again until Derek was lowering him onto a bed. Stiles gazed up at Derek and felt a lump in his throat unrelated to bad chicken. He hadn’t been so completely cared for since he was little. He hadn’t been carried to bed since he was a child, back when his mother had still been alive.

When Derek noticed that Stiles was looking at him, he paused. “Do you need anything?”

Stiles tried to smile. “You don’t totally suck at this.”

Something twitched in Derek’s face. He reached up and brushed Stiles’ hair back from his sweaty forehead. “Try to get some sleep.”

Stiles didn’t see that happening anytime soon, and he thought that right up to the point when he nodded off.

Chapter 47

When the impressive Exorcist-worthy throwing up finally stopped, Stiles dozed. He’d sink into sleep and drift up to half-awake in turns, never aware of the hour and beyond caring. Every so often Derek would press a bottle of water on him, which he’d drink. Then Derek would try to ply him with food, and Stiles would bat it away for fear anything would trigger another bout of vomiting.

Stiles woke blearily to find Derek on the bed next to him, his shoulders propped against the headboard with ShineGold in his lap. Stiles was half-curled around him with his head pillowed on Derek’s hip. It was not a very cozy pillow – Derek had like two percent body fat for padding – but Stiles had no interest in moving. Probably mostly because while Derek held open his book with one hand, his other hand was combing through Stiles’ hair absently.

Stiles must have made a noise, because Derek paused. “It lives.”

“Very funny.”

Derek resumed carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “How you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck… which is an improvement.” Stiles dug crust out of the corner of his eye. “When do we have to get out of here?”

“We’ve got the room for another night.” Derek took his hand from Stiles’ head to turn the page in his book. Afterwards he left it there, hand lingering on the page with fingertips pressed lightly to paper.

Stiles whined and burrowed at Derek’s hip demandingly with his head.

Derek chuckled and went back to brushing Stiles’ hair with his hand. Stiles settled and just enjoyed the novelty of not feeling like he was going to be violently ill any second.

“You hungry?”

Stiles hesitated. For the first time, food kind of sounded good, but he was still gun-shy about putting anything in his stomach.

Derek leaned away and came back with a crinkling sleeve of crackers. “Here.”

“When did we get these?”

“I went out and picked them up while you were sleeping. Got you some Gatorade, too, when you’re feeling up to it.” Derek paused. “You should really eat a little, though.”

“Food nazi,” Stiles grumbled as he tore open the crackers.

Derek bit back a sigh. “You were finally getting back to a healthy weight.”

That felt loaded, so they both just let it go at that. Stiles nibbled on a cracker and poked at ShineGold with his free hand. “Will you read to me?”

“If you promise not to give me shit about Sik,” Derek joked.

“She’s a _bad guy_ , Derek. I have to give you shit about that. Your favorite shouldn’t be the bad guy.” But it was just as well Derek had a soft spot for the bad ones, because Stiles had been the bad guy once. Stiles scowled and thought maybe he should reconsider his stance that Derek should stop liking bad guys. He might lose a good friend if Derek did.

There was also the fact that Derek was seen as the bad guy more often than not. No wonder he was sympathetic to the character.

Derek huffed and began to read aloud. “Her dreams stole up on her quietly. She was a cub again, racing between the humble homes of Kalte. Deuar was beside her, young in body even if he had always been old in soul.”

Stiles lay with his head on Derek’s hip listening to him read and mindlessly ate his way through half the stack of crackers.

Chapter 48

One might argue that a person couldn’t sing aloud and not know they were doing it, but Stiles totally didn’t know he was doing it. He knew the song on the radio was one of his old favorites, so it was highly probable that he started singing. He couldn’t say for certain, but it would not be surprising.

It was confirmed when Derek looked over at him and asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you can sing?”

Stiles grinned. “What? No.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason.”

Stiles clutched at his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Derek. _Wound me_.”

“No, that’s what you’re doing to me.”

Just for that, Stiles sang louder.

Chapter 49

A strangled gasp woke Stiles up in the middle of the night, but it was not his own.

That confused him at first, and he blinked around the dark room before he thought to look over at Derek in bed beside him. The werewolf was staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling, hands clenched into fists. He looked rattled, and Stiles understood all too well.

It shouldn’t surprise Stiles that Derek had nightmares, too.

He reached over and tugged on Derek’s arm. When Derek looked at him, Stiles rolled on to his side with his back to Derek in silent invitation.

Derek made a tiny broken sound and scooted across the mattress to press against Stiles’ back, his nose brushing at the nape of Stiles’ neck. It was the position Derek ended up in most nights they had to share a bed, so Stiles figured it was something Derek subconsciously needed.

Derek slowly curled his fingers into the material of Stiles’ shirt between his shoulder blades.

A sigh escaped him, and Stiles could feel Derek’s body relax.

Chapter 50

“We take the most round-about route to everywhere,” Stiles proclaimed as he studied a map on his phone.

“So?”

“We could have been in Vegas _days_ ago.”

“You in a hurry or something?”

“No… I’m just saying.”

“Just say less.”

“Oh, if only it were that easy…”

Derek snorted.

“How many friends, family, classmates, teachers, allies, and villains would have had easier lives if I’d just kept my mouth shut? We’ll never know.”

“You’d definitely get into less trouble if you watched your mouth.”

“Don’t even, you love my mouth,” Stiles countered.

Derek’s eyes flicked down to Stiles’ lips. Stiles momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Derek shrugged nonchalantly. “Peter always did say I loved things that were bad for me.”

Stiles made a pinched face, not sure how to take that.

Chapter 51

Derek left at dusk to go for a run. He came back an hour later, stood by the door in his sweat-soaked clothes, and said, “Stiles, come out here.”

“I’m not up for your sadistic night endurance drills. Climb fences and run wind sprints on your own.”

“Just come outside.”

When Stiles accompanied Derek outside, the werewolf nodded skyward. “Look up.”

Stiles did. He didn’t get what he was supposed to be looking for until he saw the first one.

“Oh!”

“Meteor shower,” Derek said with a smile.

“Wow.” So many times in the last couple of years, Stiles had felt like the sky was falling. Now it was, but it wasn’t horrifying. It was beautiful.

Derek went back inside to get his wallet and keys and drove them out into the desert a few miles, away from the light pollution of town. They pulled off the road and laid on the hood of the Camaro watching the sky streaked with falling stars.

Chapter 52

“I miss my mom.”

“Me, too.”

Chapter 53

Stiles walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and a shroud of steam from a hot shower. He pulled at his hair, irritated. He needed a haircut. Odd things like that had been unique challenges on their road trip. Because gas, snacks, bathrooms, and beds were easily found alongside highways, but barbers? They had to venture into odd little desert towns for things like fruit and socks. They were going to have to trawl yet another tiny town looking for a storefront with scissors and a comb painted on the window.

He could always ask Derek to go at it with some scissors, he supposed, but Stiles didn’t trust the werewolf not to make him look like Gumby just to be an ass.

Derek was reclined in his bed in a white t-shirt and gray boxer-briefs when Stiles wandered into the room. He was staring at the television, but there was a glaze to his eyes that made Stiles suspect Derek had no idea what he was even watching. He looked comfortable and loose, hands crossed over his stomach, one bare foot on the bed, and a notable bulge between his legs that he didn’t seem overly concerned about.

Stiles hummed jealously. He remembered boredom boners. Man, he missed boredom boners.

“I need a haircut,” he announced as he dug out a set of clean clothes.

“Mmm hmmm.”

Stiles looked at the pile of clean clothes versus dirty. “And we need to do laundry again.”

“Mmm hmmm.”

Stiles put on his clothes, went to his bed, and flopped down to finally pay attention to the television. It looked like a home renovation show.

“There’s got to be something better on than this,” Stiles griped. “Give me the remote.”

Derek picked it up from beside him on the bed and handed it over. Instead of laying his hand back atop his stomach, he dropped it to his crotch and palmed idly at his semi.

Stiles tried to pretend he didn’t see that as he started to flip through channels.

He couldn’t fucking focus, though, because Derek just kept cupping himself through his underwear. He fondled himself lazily, like he didn’t have any particular intention to do more than that, and it was slowly driving Stiles nuts.

After fifteen god damn minutes of Derek just playing with it, Stiles snapped. “Are you going to _do_ something with that?”

Not taking his hand off his half-hard dick, Derek looked over at Stiles in quiet question.

“I’m on edge _for_ you. For the love of god, just finish before I crack a tooth, you asshole.”

“Since you ask so nicely,” Derek quipped. Then he slipped his hand inside his underwear and wrapped his hand around his dick. Stiles couldn’t even fake watching television when there was a much better show happening on the neighboring bed. He stared at the shape of Derek’s fingers underneath cotton as he coaxed his erection to full hardness. It looked so easy for him, the bastard. He was rubbing it in. Well, rubbing it certainly.

Derek pushed against the mattress with his planted foot and rolled his hips into his hand. He blew out a shaky breath and sped up his strokes. The fabric of his underwear seemed to strain to keep everything contained. Stiles wished he had the guts or the voice or the brain cells to tell Derek not to keep it covered.

Derek let loose a muffled groan and pulled away from the headboard, toes curling as wetness soaked his underwear where the tip of his dick speared the fabric, come darkening the material from gray to black and spreading as Derek continued to stroke.

With a sigh, Derek leaned back and relaxed. He kept his hand in his underwear, holding himself and tugging every so often like an afterthought. His underwear was wet with come, but it didn’t seem to particularly bother him.

Stiles tore his eyes away when he felt a rush of blood between his legs. He didn’t get hard, but he thought he _almost_ did. He almost shook with the tantalizing nearness of hunger.

Chapter 54 

In a fit of optimism, Stiles bought a dirty magazine with a busty redhead on the cover. He thumbed through it leisurely for days, letting his gaze linger on every beautiful curve and blinding smile. He fantasized about the possibility of being able to do something with it.

Derek knew he had it. He’d spotted Stiles with it, took note of the redhead on the front, and scoffed. “You’re so predictable.”

Predictable was fine with him. He’d take anything that could get him to enjoy his body again.

He toyed with the idea, and the magazine, for days before he bucked up the courage to try.

“Hey, Derek, could you give me the room?”

The magazine was in his backpack, out of sight, but Derek looked over at him from whatever stupid television show he was watching, and Stiles knew that Derek _knew_ what Stiles wanted to do. He was afraid Derek would call foul on Stiles apparently being allowed to watch Derek jerk off but Derek wasn’t allowed to watch Stiles do it. 

That wasn’t it. Stiles was just nervous enough on his own without adding an audience.

Fortunately, Derek didn’t seem to mind the double-standard and decided he would use the opportunity to get in some exercise.

When Derek went for a run, Stiles retrieved the magazine and took it to his bed. He flipped to his favorite spread and blew out a breath of anxious anticipation. Coasting on hope, he dipped his hand into his underwear and pulled out his dick. Eyes dancing between the girl and his hand, he began to stroke from base to tip.

Nothing happened. 

Stiles _tried_. He flipped to other pictures, thinking maybe the one girl was the issue. He tried to be excited, but his body was stubbornly uninterested. He might as well have been watching Bob Ross paint fucking trees.

Frustrated and angry, Stiles picked up the magazine and threw it against the far wall.

Chapter 55

Stiles was spectacularly crabby for two days afterward. It didn’t help that Derek knew without even asking what had happened. He would have come back to the room and been able to smell that Stiles hadn’t been able to come.

Derek let him mope about it a couple of days before he broke the cardinal rule.

“You want to talk about it?”

Stiles looked at Derek on the opposite bed of yet another cheap motel. Stiles was pissy and surprised by the question and responded accordingly. “Why… to rub salt in the wound?”

Derek gave him an unimpressed look.

“What do you want me to say? That I can’t get it up?”

“I want you to tell me whatever you think the problem is.”

Stiles scowled. “The problem is that half the time I think _these_ ,” he held up his hands, “are _his_. And let me tell you, there is nothing less sexy than the idea of being felt up by the nogitsune.”

If he was hoping to shock Derek into backing off, Stiles was not so lucky. Derek just studied him a moment. 

Stiles let his hands fall back into his lap in resignation.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Derek said after a beat, like a fucking therapist validating him or something. Stiles had been to see a therapist after his mom, for all the good it did – he knew the tricks.

He snorted derisively.

“But from what I’ve seen, you aren’t _not_ interested.”

“Actually, I am,” Stiles sneered.

“You like watching me.”

Stiles flinched back as if struck. “I, uh… look, you…”

“Stiles, it’s okay. I wouldn’t do it in front of you if it bothered me.”

Stiles swallowed uncomfortably. “Since we’re _talking about it_ , why _do_ you let me watch? Is it some kind of exhibitionist thing?”

Derek shrugged one shoulder. “I like it.”

“You like me watching you jerk off,” Stiles said incredulously.

“I like that _you_ like it.”

Stiles gave him a disbelieving look.

“I’ve never had someone like watching me that I didn’t also have to be worried wanted to hurt me.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped and for a moment he forget he was annoyed and angry and that this was even about _him_. He stared at Derek and wanted to comfort him but didn’t have the first clue how.

“My relationship with sex is messed up,” Derek said bitterly. “It’s been too tangled up in bad things most of my life. But not with you. I know I don’t have to be afraid of you.”

“That’s not true, and it’s probably dangerous for you to think it is.”

Derek gave him a hard look. “When you’re watching me, are you thinking about hurting me?”

“No.” Stiles revisited those moments in his head. “No, definitely not.”

“When you’re watching me, are you thinking about the nogitsune?”

Stiles snorted. “Not even close.”

“Well.” Derek made a ‘there you go’ gesture, like it was as simple as that.

It fucking _wasn’t_.

Stiles rubbed at his temples. “Derek… listen, I appreciate you trying, but you don’t get it. I can’t even get turned on most of the time, and when I can I feel like shit. I think… I think I like watching you because it has nothing to do with me.” Man, it sucked to admit that. Like conceding defeat. “So I know you’re just trying to help, but trust me when I say there’s nothing for this.”

Derek just nodded, like he wasn’t happy about it and didn’t agree with it, but he would accept that answer for now.

Chapter 56

“What if you touched me?” 

They were only a day out from Vegas – they could see the city skyline on the horizon – when they decided to stop early. Mostly because they found a hotel with a strip of shops next door (including a laundromat), and killing two birds with one stone was too good to pass up. Vegas wasn’t going anywhere.

Stiles was stuffing his dirty clothes into Derek’s duffel for the trip to the laundromat and had to stop and look back at Derek, confused. “What?”

Derek was in his usual jeans and a Henley, but he was barefoot and his hair was messy from a late-afternoon nap when they’d first checked into the room. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and watched Stiles closely. “You freak out when you touch yourself… what if you touched me?”

Stiles had tried to repress the initial conversation that Derek was continuing, so it took him a second to dredge it back up. Then his eyes widened.

“I can?” he asked before he could filter himself.

Derek cracked a smile. “If you want to.”

Stiles tracked his eyes down Derek’s body like he was a rollercoaster Stiles was finally tall enough to ride.

Okay, maybe that analogy wasn’t the best. Still, having permission to put his hands on Derek’s body…

“Yeah, that… okay.”

Derek lifted his eyebrows. “So you _want_ to?”

“I… yes?”

Derek frowned. “Is that a question?”

“No, that’s…” Stiles turned away from the laundry. To hell with laundry. “Yes, I want to.” He _really_ wanted to. He fidgeted. “I can’t believe you’d let me, though.”

Derek looked almost boyish and shy when he offered a tiny smile.

Stiles stood there looking at Derek and didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Right now?”

That earned him a laugh. “If you want to.”

“Well, you know, it’s up to you. If you’re not feeling it. I was just handling dirty socks. So I mean, if you don’t think you can get hard like that…”

“Stiles… I promise, if you touch me, I’ll get hard. Don’t worry about that.”

“Oh.” He absolutely did not blush.

And he certainly didn’t squeak when Derek climbed on his bed, reclined against the headboard, and looked toward Stiles, waiting.

Stiles’ feet carried him to the bed without him having any say in it. He crawled across the mattress on autopilot and sat by Derek’s right side. He stopped and took in all of him. Suddenly, Derek’s body was intimidating as fuck.

“You don’t have to,” Derek said.

“I want to!” Stiles said, this time with conviction. “Just… not sure how to… um… start.” Man, that sounded lame out loud. He licked his lips and started to reach for Derek’s fly. He hesitated and stole a glance up at Derek’s face, receiving an encouraging nod, before he laid his fingers on the denim of Derek’s jeans, just taking it all in. He traced his thumb over the shape of Derek’s dick through his pants, mesmerized that he could feel it going from soft to _not_.

Fingers shaking, he unbuttoned Derek’s jeans then dragged the zipper down. The metal teeth unlocking vibrated up Stiles’ hand and seemed to bite through his lungs with unleashed heat. When he reached the end of the zipper, Derek made a relieved sound and shifted his hips up to nudge his dick out from the confines of his pants.

Stiles couldn’t take his eyes from the clothed shape of Derek bulging from his parted jeans. Stiles felt like he could just watch Derek’s dick harden and angle inexorably toward his belly and be happy with that. Derek was just beautiful.

“Stiles,” Derek coaxed.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed. Then he slipped his hand into the vee of Derek’s open fly and pressed against Derek’s length through too-warm cotton.

Derek sucked in a breath and pushed up against Stiles’ hand.

Stiles considered the angle a moment, frustrated, then he tucked up under Derek’s right arm. It was the closest he could get to the angle Stiles had when he did this to himself, and self-experience was all he had.

Derek looped his right arm around Stiles’ back and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Stiles brushed the pad of his thumb against Derek’s head through the fabric. Derek grunted and Stiles felt the tackiness of precome under his thumb. He smiled goofily and rubbed his palm over and down Derek’s dick. Then he dipped his hand into Derek’s pants and groped his balls.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek pleaded, chided? It was hard to tell, he sounded rough.

“Is that not okay?”

“It’s fine, but if you keep doing it, I’m going to come.”

Stiles grinned and toyed with the waistband of Derek’s underwear. “Confession… whenever you touched yourself, I wanted to see your dick.”

Making an impatient noise, Derek used his free hand to shove his underwear down, freeing his hard, flushed dick and pretty much sending Stiles into cardiac arrest. “Fuck,” he breathed and stared at the glory that was Derek’s unconstrained penis. It was leaking precome, and Stiles hated that it was getting all over the bottom of Derek’s Henley, so Stiles rucked up Derek’s shirt so it would smear on muscled abs instead.

Finally, _finally_ , Stiles wrapped his hand around Derek. Derek bucked up into the touch and his body quaked. “Fuck, it’s going to be fast,” he panted. “Sorry… thought I’d be able to let you go slower.”

Stiles didn’t want _slow_. He wanted to make Derek come apart. He leaned in closer and began to stroke. His tongue was permanently sticking out between his lips as Stiles focused on his task. Derek kept hugging him closer (Stiles wondered if Derek knew he was doing it), alternating between breathing against the side of Stiles’ head and watching Stiles’ hand. When Stiles could tell Derek was getting close, he started to stroke him faster. Derek groaned and thrust his hips up, fucking into Stiles’ fist with mounting urgency.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Derek choked, and that was all the warning Stiles had before Derek arched and came. Spurts of white landed on Derek’s stomach and his Henley (despite Stiles’ shirt-saving efforts) and got all over Stiles’ hand as he continued to pump his fist.

When Derek stopped coming, Stiles let go mournfully. He would have sat back, but Derek was clutching him kind of hard. Stiles didn’t mind.

After a minute to catch his breath, Derek said hoarsely, “So… I know that was somehow for you, but right now I can’t remember how.”

Stiles laughed.

Derek chuckled and rubbed his hand up Stiles’ back. Stiles relaxed into his side.

“Did you like that?” Derek asked.

“I’m pretty sure it’s my new favorite thing _ever_ ,” Stiles answered shakily. His body was strung with tension and energy.

“Good.”

And it _was_. Stiles had made someone come. Not himself, but he felt so great that he didn’t even fucking care.

Chapter 57

Vegas was pretty much everything Derek had said it was. But it was also kind of amazing. Too bright and flashy and outlandish to be real, but Stiles had had quite enough of the real world. He’d gladly blind himself with this fantastical place where ancient Egypt and Vienna clashed. There wasn’t room to be lost in his own head in all that glitz. The void was crowded out by a riot of color and light.

Stiles was willing to concede that it wasn’t Vegas that had freed some part of him. It had been Derek, in a hotel room a day north of the city. Vegas was just the stage for his afterglow. And what a stage it was.

They wandered the strip all night, because darkness never fell on Vegas. Derek tried to get Stiles to pose for a picture next to a fountain, constantly goading him to get closer, even pushing him that way with a hand on his shoulder, before Derek just shoved Stiles into the water completely. A casino attendant came at them yelling and glaring, but Stiles couldn’t stop laughing as he climbed out of the water and wrung out the bottom of his shirt.

They pulled a few handles on the slot machines to say they did, but the gambling didn’t really interest either of them. They watched street performers trying to break into the business. They saw shows of people who already had. Stiles was at that awkward place where he was old enough to vote but not old enough to drink, so they skipped the bars. Not that Stiles was really interested in getting drunk. He wasn’t entirely in control of himself when he was drunk, and he was terrified of not being in control. That was when demons found their way in. It was entirely possible he would never let himself get drunk again.

It wasn’t until the light of day began to creep into the alternate reality of Vegas Night that they turned their attention to finding lodging. They tended toward cheap rooms, but that night they splurged on a room overlooking the city.

It had two beds, but they piled onto one and slept while the nocturnal creatures of Vegas went into hiding to await the next setting of the sun.

Chapter 58

“Las Vegas?” John asked, sounding surprised.

“Yep. Sin city. I’m looking at it out the hotel window right now.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

He could practically see John’s rueful headshake. “Oh, nothing. Just didn’t see that coming. Don’t come home broke.”

“We’re not even really gambling… mostly just taking in the freak show. There are entirely too many women with feathers out here.”

John snorted. “Okay. Well, don’t come home married, either.”

Stiles didn’t have a comeback for that.

“You sound better,” John said after a short silence.

Stiles’ face softened. “I feel better.”

“Think you’ll be coming home soon?”

Stiles thought about that for a second. Every time before when John had asked, Stiles knew immediately that the answer was no. Now… “Maybe.”

“Okay. Just whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Love you, kiddo. And say hi to Derek for me.”

Chapter 59

Some irrational part of Stiles was afraid that the new contentment he felt would stay behind when they left Vegas, like it was borrowed and never really his to keep. A trick of the lights of the strip, deluding him with hopes of peace the same way it blinded people with the hope of riches.

It didn’t.

Chapter 60

“What do you think you’ll do when we go back home?” Stiles asked out of the blue.

Derek looked over at him, no doubt surprised. It was the first time Stiles had talked about going home and what came after.

“I don’t know. Look for work, I guess.”

“Yeah… sitting alone in your apartment brooding all day isn’t good for you.”

Derek rolled his eyes and countered with, “What about you? Think you’ll go back to school?”

“Probably not. Technically, I didn’t withdraw before we left, I just went MIA. So my grades are in the gutter after the exams I missed and nothing at this point could save them.” Stiles pondered his future, which was a vast improvement from a time not too long ago when he didn’t feel like he had one. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really doing well in school.”

Once upon a time, he’d been good at school. Not as focused as he could have been, not as smart as Lydia, but he’d excelled despite that. Yet another constant in Stiles’ life the nogitsune had torn to shreds. Because he couldn’t pretend to care about cosines and tangents when he’d almost covered the town in bodies. English had been Allison’s favorite class, and now Stiles couldn’t sit through a lecture on Shakespeare without feeling nauseated and breaking into a cold sweat.

Derek paused. “You might do better now.”

“Yeah, maybe.” It still didn’t feel right, though. That bridge was burned. He’d feel like he was trying too hard to be someone he might have been if not for foxes. He couldn’t make that work. He had to figure out who to be in spite of the nogitsune. “I think maybe I’ll try to find a job. Something that matters. Because statistics? They _so_ don’t.” Stiles liked the idea the more he thought about it. “I think I’ll do better if I’m doing work that means something. I won’t have a degree, so I’m probably not going to make a fortune, but… there are more important things than money.”

Like being at peace with himself.

Chapter 61

_Scott: asked kira to marry me! she said YES!!! :D_

_Stiles: that’s great, man! i’m happy for you!_

And Stiles actually _was_ happy for his friend. There was room in him for that again.

Chapter 62

Stiles jackknifed out of bed with a gasp and stumbled toward the bathroom before he was even fully awake. He didn’t remember the nightmare, only knew that it had been one, because they left a distinct flavor of fear swimming through his body.

Derek woke with him and started to move to follow Stiles, but Stiles waved him off and shut himself in the bathroom. He stood at the sink, willing the trembling in his limbs to stop. He looked up at his reflection and winced at the haunted look in his eyes.

When he felt a little steadier, he splashed some water on his face, dried off, and went back out into the room. He made a beeline for Derek’s bed and crawled in without missing a step. Derek held up the covers to welcome him.

A silent question hung in the air.

“I hoped I was done having those,” Stiles mumbled. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

“Little bit.”

Stiles sighed.

“You weren’t screaming, though. That’s something.”

It was.

“Yay, progress.”

Chapter 63

They picked up sandwiches from a deli for lunch one day and ate them at a nearby park with shaded picnic tables.

Stiles was quietly counting in his head. “Three and a half months.”

“Has it been that long?” Derek asked off-handedly around a bite.

“Yeah.” Stiles cocked his head in thought. “Doing this was a good idea. It’s helped.”

Derek nodded in agreement.

“Helped me, anyway. I don’t think you got much out of it,” Stiles muttered sardonically.

At that, Derek looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s face it, I was the bigger mess when we left Beacon Hills. I’ve _been_ the bigger mess on this whole trip. You just got stuck with me.”

Clearly displeased, Derek put his sandwich down and leveled Stiles with a look. “Whether you were the bigger mess when this all began is debatable.”

“Is not.”

“ _Debatable_ ,” Derek stressed. Then he scowled. “And you’re an idiot if you think I haven’t gotten anything out of this.”

“Derek… you’ve been babysitting me for almost four months. And I’ll grant I’m decent company when I’m not in a funk, but let’s be real about who was the train wreck on this little adventure.”

“Stiles,” Derek groaned in exasperation, rolled his eyes, and shook his head in disbelief.

“Facts are facts. You put up with my nightmares, you took care of me when I was sick, and what did I do for you?”

“You were _here_ ,” Derek answered emphatically. He clenched his jaw and closed his hands into fists. “Damnit, Stiles, you’re the only one in the pack who didn’t _leave_.”

Stiles stared at him, speechless. 

“You were here,” Derek reiterated, his voice gone low. “You needed me. And you let me need you.” Derek took a breath and deliberately relaxed his hands. “That’s all I wanted.” With that, Derek looked down in embarrassment at his lunch.

Stiles thought he finally got it.

“Huh.”

Derek huffed at the noise.

“So… can two people be considered a pack?”

Derek looked up carefully. “It’s not typical… but yes.”

“Even if the other one is human?”

“Yes.”

Stiles thought it over a moment. “Cool.”

Derek eyed him, wary but hopeful. “That’s it? Just ‘cool’?”

“Well, I’m obviously expecting some kind of club jacket. I’m assuming leather. Of course, with just two of us wearing them we’ll look like twinkies instead of a gang, but if you can deal with the shame of us being out and about in Beacon Hills dressed alike, I can totally rock it.”

Derek chuckled. “You’re not getting a jacket.”

“You’re right… too small. We need to make a bigger statement. I know! Face-tattoos!”

“Absolutely _not_.”

“No wait, hear me out, you don’t even know what tattoo is going to symbolize our pack status yet.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Well, you have to, because odds are I’m going to pass out in the tattoo parlor, so you have to tell the guy what to ink on me.”

“If that happens, I’m telling the guy to tattoo a penis on your face.”

Stiles made a scandalized face. “ _Rude_.”

Chapter 64

“This isn’t a relationship.”

“That’s a strange thing to say when you’ve got your hand down my pants.”

Yeah, kind of. Especially since Stiles had totally jumped on that. Pretty much the second Derek lay down on the motel bed next to Stiles, Stiles had rolled into him and snaked a hand down the front of his sweatpants to see if he was up for a hand job. He most definitely was.

Stiles winced. “What I mean is… this can’t be _that_. Not yet.” 

The conversation had not stopped the activity below the waist. Stiles’ hand was still fondling Derek inside his sweats. Derek dropped his hand on top of Stiles’ over his pants, although not to stop him. He brushed his thumb over Stiles’ clothed knuckles. “I assume you have a reason.”

“Hmmm,” Stiles hummed agreement and shifted closer. He tore his eyes from where his hand disappeared down Derek’s pants to look the werewolf in the eye. “I’m so much better than before, but… what if it gets bad again as soon as we go home? I can’t drag you down with me if it does.”

“You – oh _god_ , do that again – you really think us being together or not would make a difference?”

“I have to. I _have_ to believe there’s something I can do to protect you.” With the nogitsune, there had been nothing he could do to save his friends. They were suffering and it was his fault and there was nothing he could do about it. That had been the most helpless, terrifying feeling in the world. He never wanted to feel like that again.

“So what exactly are you suggesting?”

“That we wait and see. When we get home, if I’m okay… then maybe we could be something.” Stiles slowly stroked, loving the way Derek came alive under his touch. “If you want that. I don’t know, maybe you don’t.”

“Does it _feel_ like I don’t want you?”

“Well, uh… I thought…”

“You thought what?” Derek growled.

“Maybe I’m just… convenient?”

Derek froze and looked at Stiles like he’d grown a second head. “You’re an idiot.” Then he gently took hold of Stiles’ wrist and pulled his hand out of his pants.

“Dude, I’m sorry, we don’t have to stop.”

“No, I thought we could try something.”

“Like what?”

With that, Derek leaned toward Stiles. He crowded him. Stiles got that Derek wanted him to move and went with it. He let Derek roll him on to his back, curious. Then his eyes widened when Derek slowly, as though not to spook him, moved on top of him. He settled his weight atop Stiles, his elbows on either side of Stiles bracing his upper body against the mattress and his knees knocking against Stiles’. And everything in between was pressure and _heat_. 

It was not as intense as it could have been, since they were both wearing sleep clothes, but it was _enough_. Enough for Stiles to feel the shape of Derek’s body on top of him. Definitely enough to feel the hard bulge of Derek’s groin against his own.

“Oh,” Stiles breathed.

“This okay?”

“Absolutely.” Stiles wiggled just to accentuate the sensation of contact every inch where they were touching. Stiles would have expected being pinned under Derek to feel like being trapped, but it felt comfortable. He felt safe. Which was probably not quite what Derek had in mind, which begged the question… “Where were you planning on going with this?”

“Testing a theory. You’re fine touching me… what about if someone else is touching you?”

It was probably asking for too much. “I’m not really sure that’s going to –” Stiles started to say, but he broke off into a surprised sound when Derek lazily rocked his hips against Stiles and it _did things_ to him. His hands went to Derek’s sides and Stiles’ legs fell open so that Derek settled naturally between them. It lined their dicks up perfectly through layers of fabric.

Stiles bit his lip.

“Stop?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head emphatically.

Derek continued to roll his hips, grinding against Stiles with a sedate pace and control that Stiles would not have thought anyone capable of maintaining. It was tame enough for him to wrap his mind around it, languid enough that he could bask in every detail of it. Derek wasn’t annoyed or impatient when Stiles didn’t react in kind. He seemed content to press himself to Stiles all day.

Stiles wondered if he would, holding off coming for hours if Stiles wasn’t going to get off too, when the excitement that was fit to split inside his chest took a decided detour south. Stiles jolted when he felt himself stir. He feared it would be gone as quickly as it came, and he held his breath and dreaded the inevitable.

But the quicksilver swell of arousal didn’t disappear. It pooled and grew and Stiles was _getting hard_. He panted brokenly and hoped with all his being that this didn’t turn sour and end. He wanted this. He wanted it so badly he could scream.

Derek felt him responding and ground his hips down a little harder. Stiles groaned and shoved his hips up in search of friction. Derek smiled and kept on going. And Stiles kept on hardening. Derek shifted off to give the new arrival to the party room, and Stiles canted his hips back into the mattress so his dick (previously pinned down by Derek) could strain up toward his belly. Derek settled back against him and the new point of contact, of friction, made Stiles whine and grab at Derek’s shirt.

“You okay?” Derek asked, and his voice was wrecked. He might act cool and controlled, but his voice gave him away.

“Yes,” Stiles squeaked and yanked weakly at Derek’s shirt. “Want this off.”

Derek moved away just long enough to strip off his shirt. Somehow, Stiles lost his, too. Then Derek was lying on top of him again, bare chest to bare chest. Stiles spread his knees shamelessly to have Derek _closer_. Derek went back to rocking his hips into Stiles, grinding their clothed dicks together in a rhythm that was on its way to sending Stiles into orbit.

Stiles’ whole body twitched when he felt a dribble of precome soak his underwear.

Oh god, he was going to come. He was actually going to come.

He somewhat frantically began to shove down the waistband of his pants. “Off… get these off.” He wanted to feel every bit of this.

Derek backed off and helped Stiles slip out of the rest of his clothes, a picture of composure compared to Stiles’ desperate motions. His hard, aching dick was almost alien to him, willing and able in a way Stiles hadn’t experienced in _years_.

Derek reclaimed his place between Stiles’ thighs, but he hadn’t removed his own pants. Because Stiles hadn’t told him to, and he was so stupidly determined to followed Stiles’ lead to the letter that he didn’t presume.

Stiles growled and pushed at Derek’s sweats, shoving them down his hips as far as he could while pinned underneath him. Derek caught on and shifted his weight to one elbow and used his free hand to lower his sweatpants and underwear down to mid-thigh before he covered Stiles again.

Stiles arched into Derek, an almost pained noise escaping him at the slide of skin on skin, at the velvety touch and intoxicating heat, at the slick of their precome anointing both their bellies.

“Okay?” Derek grunted.

Stiles whimpered and began to thrust against Derek’s perfect stomach and beautiful dick with sudden urgency and fervor. There was a pool of liquid lightning building in his belly, and all he wanted in that moment was to unleash the storm.

“Stiles?”

Stiles clutched at Derek’s shoulders and moved his hips faster. “Yeah, good… close… Derek… _gonna come_ …”

Derek growled, feral and hungry and hot like he _wanted_ Stiles to spill all over him.

Stiles buried his face in the juncture of Derek’s neck and shoulder, bucked, and came. It ripped a strangled shout from his throat and he exploded hard and fast between their bodies. It wasn’t poison being expelled from him. It didn’t feel bad. It felt so unbelievably, amazingly _good_. Stiles made a pathetic keening noise as he jerked his hips against Derek, spurting and painting until he was wrung and spent.

When he could catch his breath again, Stiles loosened his hold on Derek and laid back on the bed. Derek looked down at him, looking strangely _proud_. As well he _should_. 

Stiles smiled.

Then he felt the hard line of Derek’s erection against his lower abdomen.

“You should finish,” Stiles whispered hoarsely.

“I don’t need to.”

A spike of anger flashed through Stiles, and he met Derek’s eyes with ferocity. “If you don’t finish, that makes me a pity case. _Finish_ , Derek.”

That was all Derek needed to hear. He started to move his hips again, rutting against Stiles with sudden determination. He didn’t care about being slow anymore. He snapped his hips and slid his dick through the wet mess Stiles had already made of their skin.

Stiles watched him, captivated. Derek’s face screwed in concentration as his back bowed and arched. Stiles lifted a hand and fisted Derek’s hair at the back of his head. Derek grunted and shoved his hips down so hard against Stiles that the mattress banged against the wall.

“You close?” Stiles asked breathlessly.

Derek nodded sharply. Stiles could swear he felt it, the impending orgasm drawing Derek taut like the string of a bow. Until it snapped. Derek snarled, all but fell onto Stiles and gathered him close, pressed his nose behind Stiles’ ear, and went rigid. Stiles felt the wet heat of come shooting onto his skin as Derek nearly shook with his release. He yelled, a sound with a gritty hint of a howl, and pushed Stiles into the mattress like it was for keeps.

Maybe. Hopefully. Someday.

When Derek finished, he slumped down on top of Stiles. Stiles wrapped his arms tighter around Derek (when had he wrapped his arms around Derek to begin with?) and basked in the afterglow. It felt amazing. And that was just from rubbing against each other. Stiles couldn’t imagine what actual dicks-in-asses sex with Derek would be like.

He hoped he’d get to find out someday.

“Holy shit,” Derek muttered against his throat.

“No kidding,” Stiles chuckled. “Between the two of us, there’s so much jizz on our stomachs and chests that we might actually be glued together.”

Derek grumbled something that might have been “that’s disgusting, Stiles” but Stiles didn’t fucking care. He was on air.

They might have lain there all night, but they’d never know, because the person in the neighboring room started to bang angrily on the wall.

Stiles froze… then he began to laugh. “Derek! You hear that? We had neighbor-disturbing sex!” Stiles reached up over his head with one hand to pound on the wall and called out, “Yes, sorry, thank you!”

Derek began to shake with laughter.

Chapter 65

The next morning, Stiles insisted on going into a tattoo parlor. Derek thought it was ridiculous and said so, repeatedly, but Stiles had something memorable for _happy reasons_ to immortalize. Derek could just be a grumpy gus about it, Stiles wasn’t to be deterred. He wanted this.

This part of his body would be something the nogitsune had never shared with him.

He didn’t pass out when the artist brought out the needle, but it was a near thing. Derek held his hand the entire time, taking pain and offering comfort.

Stiles walked out an hour later with the outline of howling wolf’s head on his right shoulder blade and a cracking smile on his face.

Derek swore he would have stuck to his promise to tell the tattoo guy to put a dick on Stiles’ face if he’d passed out. Stiles didn’t buy it for a second, especially not once Derek realized the tattoo Stiles _did_ want.

Derek was suspiciously fine with the mark of the wolf on Stiles’ skin permanently.

Chapter 66 

_Scott: so do you think this roadtrip worked? did you get what you hoped for out of it?_

Stiles looked over at Derek standing at the check-out of the gas station’s convenience store. Stiles was leaning back against Betty by the pumps, but he could clearly see Derek through the store’s large windows. Derek had asked Stiles before he went inside if he wanted anything. Stiles said no, but he spotted the package of Reese’s peanut butter cups in Derek’s hand, and he knew they were for him.

Stiles smiled.

_Stiles: a lot of what i hoped for and then some_

Chapter 67

“It’s almost over.”

Derek had been dozing in the passenger seat of the Camaro, but at Stiles’ voice he opened his eyes and looked over at him. “What?”

Stiles took his right hand off the steering wheel and tracked his finger down the page edge of ShineGold, catching on the bookmark near the end. Only a sliver of the story remained.

“Oh, right.” Derek reached over, took the book off the dashboard, and fanned through the pages.

“Bummed?” Stiles asked.

“Not really. I’ve read it before, and I’m sure I’ll read it again.” He closed ShineGold in his lap. “It’s up to me how long this lasts.”

It was such an earthshattering concept, that they could dictate their own happiness.

Stiles glanced over at Derek, caught his eye, and fought a smile. “We’re not just talking about books, are we?”

“As if I’d resort to symbolism and metaphor,” Derek answered, perfectly deadpan, and followed the comment with rolling his eyes. “Don’t you know I was raised by wolves?”

Stiles laughed so hard his sides hurt.

Chapter 68

They were having dinner at a 50’s-themed diner at a quarter to nine at night, and Stiles thought they may have been in it before. It felt familiar, but maybe after so many they all became the same diner. They’d been in every diner, it seemed, all of them and none of them. Their ubiquity alongside highways was unending. Like the asphalt itself. Lines of black and gray, stripes of white and yellow, stretching into eternity, chasing horizons and offering no finality. For there was always another turn to take, another bend to round, and the only component of that nomadic partnership that wearied was the traveler.

The roads would go on long after the car had stopped. Forever beckoning others who might turn their gaze toward the open road. Living as a sun-kissed, wind-swept memory in those who’d answered the call.

“Where to now?” Derek asked casually as he popped a hushpuppy in his mouth. Stiles valiantly did not take the bait and crack a joke at that.

Instead, he thought about Derek’s question. He thought about where he wanted to go. It really felt like the world was laid out before him. America was his for the picking, any city. Derek would take him anywhere. All Stiles had to do was name the place.

“Can we go home?”

Derek stopped picking at his food and looked up searchingly at Stiles. Stiles remembered a time when the werewolf’s stare had made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure anymore how, because Derek seriously had the most naked, open expressions of possibly anyone he’d ever known. Novels lived in the features of his face. Stiles just had to learn the language. When he did, he thought he could read Derek Hale forever.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

Chapter 69

Stiles stood outside the motel room at dawn, his suitcase and backpack on the ground at his feet. Pink and lavender soaked the sky, the world unfolding in a lazy, freshly-woken stretch, and he stood still a moment to take it in. The day felt different, infused with purpose. Hope.

This felt right. He’d tried so hard to lose his demons on the road, but in the meanwhile he’d found himself. He wasn’t sure if the peace would hold once he returned to Beacon Hills, but he felt ready to face that challenge. He was stronger now. He felt grounded.

So many months feeling like he was groping around in the funnel of a tornado for something to hold on to. An anchor. He understood werewolves so much better for having lived on the road with one.

“You ready to go?” Derek asked as he came up behind Stiles and put a hand on his back. Stiles turned his head to look at him. Derek looked transformed, too. Not brand new – the scars would never disappear completely for him anymore than they would for Stiles – but exorcised. Clean.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

They put Stiles’ luggage in the trunk, got in the car, and turned for Beacon Hills.

Stiles pulled out his cell phone and typed out a text message to his father.

_Stiles: i’m coming back_

And he meant that in more ways than one.

END


End file.
